* * *
Pulling up in front of Teasers now, I parked my car in the dusty parking lot, keeping a respectful distance from three Harleys lined up near the entrance. I stepped through the front door, going from the blazing mid-afternoon California sun into the permanent night-time of the club in a heartbeat. My first time in a strip club was almost exactly as I had imagined it would be: A few middle-aged men sat at the bar, half-empty drinks in front of them. The reddish light made them look flushed, as though they were on the verge of having a heart attack. A stage to the right jutted out into the middle of a sea of tables. There was no one dancing at the moment, but the spotlight was illuminated, as if at any moment the music would start and a girl would emerge from behind the curtain. A bartender sat on a stool at the end of the bar. He was around fifty years old with the skinny, gaunt look of a lifetime smoker, and he stared at a ball game on the TV as he absently cut up lemons.
I walked over to the bartender, reminding myself that I was putting on a show. “Scuse me,” I said, flashing him a big smile. “I saw the help wanted sign out front. You looking for a waitress?”
The man looked me up and down; I made sure to push my tits forward just a little. “Yeah,” he grunted. “Cocktail waitress. Wednesday night, Thursday night, and an early shift Saturday.”
“Do I need to fill out an application?” I asked innocently. When he burst out laughing, I realized I sounded like an idiot. This was going to be a little harder than I thought. “Shit, there ain’t no application,” he scoffed. “You wanna apply, you talk to the boss.”
“Is he here?”
“Yeah, hold on.” The man hauled himself to his feet and walked through a doorway to the back. “Chig? You got a minute? Girl out here wants the waitress job.”
I adjusted my skirt nervously and waited. Soon, the bartender walked back out, followed by a larger man of about the same age. He was at least 6’4” by my estimate, with a shock of curly, salt and pepper hair, and skin like leather. He was carrying a few pounds of extra weight, but the effect was not of flab, but rather of mass. He had been a handsome man when he was younger, I thought. He was an imposing figure, and I struggled against the impulse to be intimidated as he eyed me up and down.
“You ever waitress before?” he asked, staring at my tits.
“Yes,” I replied nervously, giving him a wide smile. “I’m good at it, too.”
“Larry tell you the hours?”
“Wednesday night, Thursday night, and early Saturday,” I responded.
“Pay is $6.75 and whatever tips you make.” The man – Chig – cocked his head and gave me a sly smile. “How do you feel about keepin’ your pay in cash, off the books?”
I heaved an inner sigh of relief. I hadn’t figured out how I was going to keep my real name out of this, if I got the job. This way, I wouldn’t have to. “That’s fine with me,” I said. And then, for extra effect: “Fuckin’ taxman takes too much of my money as it is.”
Chig grinned, showing long, even teeth. “All right, then.” He nodded once. “Have Larry show you where the T-shirts are. Take one, show up for work tomorrow at six. What you wear on the lower half of your body is up to you, but… you are workin’ for tips, and this is a strip club.” He leaned to the side and gave my skirt a frank, appraising stare. “What you have on is pretty good, but you might wanna hike it up a bit. Your ass is a money-maker. Use your own judgment.”
“Thanks,” I said, holding out my hand. I’m Tina Andrews, by the way.”
Chig looked at my hand with amusement before he took it in his large paw. My guess was he wasn’t used to shaking hands with women. “Chig Taylor,” he said. His eyes met mine in a frankly feral stare as he held my small hand in his larger one a few seconds too long. I finally withdrew it, as gently as I could, and gave him what I hoped was a smile that promised neither too much nor too little. As he turned away to go back to his office, my eyes went to the rockers that were stitched on the back of his leather cut: Fugitives MC. California.
When Chig had gone back into his office, I went and told Larry I’d been hired. He showed me to a back room where I picked a T-shirt that looked to be a size too small. The name of the club, Teasers, was emblazoned on the front, the curlicues of the T and the S winding not very subtly around where my breasts would be. I thanked Larry and left, blinking out into the blinding sunlight. I got into my car and heaved a huge sigh of relief. Step one, check, I thought to myself, and started the engine.
Chapter Two
The fact was, I wasn’t really sure what Step Two was. In my mind, the furthest I’d ever gotten in my plan was infiltrating the MC. I had figured that once I was in, I would bide my time to figure out the best opportunity to take them down. I had had vague fantasies of explosions, blood, the club president pleading at my feet to spare his life… stuff like that. But beyond those pleasant images, and buying and learning how to fire a gun, my basic plan was to wait.
And watch.
I showed up the next night a few minutes early, dressed in my tight Teasers T-shirt and a pink mini-skirt that showed as much as possible without my risking being arrested for indecent exposure. I had wrestled with the choice between slut heels and more practical tennis shoes, since I would be on my feet all night, and had finally decided on a compromise pair of two-inch heels that weren’t too uncomfortable. I spent close to half an hour on my makeup – unheard of for me – taking great care to make myself look like I’d fit in as a cocktail waitress at a strip club.
Even so, once I arrived at Teasers, I realized that I might have to up my game if I wanted to stay employed. Next to the other two cocktail waitresses, I might as well have been Little Bo Peep. Jan, the older one, looked to be about forty. She had cut up her T-shirt to expose as much of her surgically-enhanced cleavage as possible, to the point where I worried her girls would spill out the top whenever she leaned over to serve a drink. Her blond-streaked brown hair was teased and pouffed like a porn star’s, and she wore a pair of hot pink heels that called attention to her toned legs. Candy, the younger one, was probably about my age. She wore a pair of four-inch platforms that looked like she bought them straight from a sex shop. I had to admit, I was impressed watching her carry around trays of drinks wearing those things. She was dressed almost indistinguishably from the strippers, and I wondered more than once whether she had taken the waitressing job hoping to get noticed and “move up” the ranks. If so, she was certainly dressed for success.
The first hour or so was not that busy, and Jan took it upon herself to show me the ropes. “Things get a little wild around here later on, once the men have a few drinks in ‘em,” she said. Best thing you can do for yourself is to not get riled, or if you do, not to show it. The nicer you are to them, the better your tips. They ain’t supposed to touch you, but most of the time it’s better to just let them get away with copping an occasional feel.”
I nodded, steeling myself for the realities of the job. It would all be worth it, I told myself, once I had made the MC pay.
Jan looked over at Chig, who had just emerged from the back office. “The MC’s a different story. They’re your bread and butter, so you gotta roll with whatever they do. Most of ‘em are okay – they’ll joke with you and feel you up a bit while you’re working -- but a couple of them get real mean when they’ve been drinking. Best to try to avoid them when they’re like that if you can.” I cut her a questioning glance, and she looked away. “Just be a little careful of Chig and Dime Bag when they’ve had a few,” she warned, and walked off to check on a table.
As chatty as Jan was, Candy was the opposite, at least with me. With the customers, she was downright clingy – climbing into laps, not-so-subtly pushing her tits forward to give them a peek at the merchandise, stuff like that. I caught her shooting death glares at me for most of the first night, and realized that she probably thought of me as a potential challenge to her territory, and her tips. The smartest thing to do seemed to be to stay away from her, and hoped that she’d ev
entually see me as less of a threat.
Around 10:00, a group of four MC guys showed up together. They sat down at a couple of tables in Candy’s section that had cards on them labeled “Reserved.”
“Candy just went on break,” Larry said to me as they sat down. “Whyn’t you go over there and take care of them until she gets back.”
Obligingly, I grabbed a tray and went over to them. “Hi, guys,” I said in a voice I hoped sounded friendly-not-too-friendly, but most of all not nervous as hell. “I’m Tina. What can I get for you?”
“Ah, new blood!” said a hard-looking man in his forties. He looked at me with a barely concealed leer. “I’m Bullet, sweetheart. Why don’t you turn around and let us see the goods?”
I laughed like I was flattered and took a step back to twirl slowly around for him. “This one’s got a hot little ass on her,” Bullet laughed, smacking me once on the left cheek. I jumped and then smiled at him, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tightness in my jaw. “Hope we’ll be seein’ a lot of you, darlin’. Let me introduce you to the boys,” he continued, turning to the table. “This here’s Uncle…” A man who had to be in his sixties, gone to fat and clearly the worse for wear. “Dime Bag…” late twenties, maybe, shaved head, muscular, with narrow eyes and a hard look. “And Spider.”
Holy shit. Spider. I turned and stared in barely concealed amazement. I realized as I looked at him that my memory of him didn’t include any sense of what he looked like. My hatred and grief had composed a portrait of him that alternated between serial killer and high school delinquent. The man who sat in front of me, ten years older than the last time I saw him, was nothing like I remembered. Clear blue eyes looked out from a square, masculine face. Dark hair, just a little too long, had begun to curl at his neck, drawing attention to the sensitive spot just behind his ear. A shadow of beard accentuated his strong jawline. Full, sensual lips curled up just a bit at the corner as he regarded me with casual curiosity, making my stomach flip. “H-hello, gentlemen,” I said, tearing my eyes away from Spider and looking at all of them in turn. “Pleased to meet you.”
“This your first night, darlin’?” Spider asked, his voice rich like melted butter. Holy shit. I was actually getting weak in the knees from sensory overload just being near this guy. It was like he was emitting some signal that sent a current through my body when he looked at or spoke to me. I need to watch myself around him, I thought as alarm bells went off inside me.
“Uh… Yeah, it is. Chig just hired me yesterday,” I replied, my eyes locked into his.
“Ha! That Chig has good fuckin’ taste,” Dime Bag leered. A chorus of agreement greeted his remark.
“Um, can I get you gentlemen some drinks?” I asked, smiling nervously and hoping I wasn’t being too abrupt.
“Whiskey,” Spider said.
“Any particular kind?” I asked.
“Darlin’ there ain’t but one kind. Jack. That’s all we stock here.” He smiled at me in amusement, and winked one gorgeous blue at me in a gesture that shot straight down to my sex. I felt my mouth turn up at the corners in spite of myself. Laughing, I said, “So noted. Who’s next?”
I took the rest of their orders and walked over to the bar to give them to Larry. While I waited, I took a few deep breaths to calm myself. Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me and a hand traveling up my skirt.
“Hey, darlin’, give me a little taste of that,” Dime Bag’s voice said in my ear. His fingers moved between my legs, pushing away my panties and finding my hot core. I gasped in shock and froze. Jan’s voice came back to me: Watch out for Dime Bag.
“I, uh…” His rough fingers probed inside me. The violation was so sudden, so brazen that for a moment I could only stand there, willing him to stop. “Please,” I gasped finally. “I need to get your drink orders.”
“They’ll wait,” he rasped. His other hand came around my waist, pressing me back against his hardening shaft. I started to struggle, but something told me that would only encourage him. He didn’t strike me as the kind who took no for an answer. He began to move against me; his grip was like a vice. I couldn’t move at all. I glanced up at Larry, hoping he would do something, but the bartender’s eyes briefly met mine, then flicked away. He turned around and busied himself with something at the cash register.
“Hey, Dime, what’s the holdup? Let the girl get us our drinks,” a voice called from the table. Dime Bag stiffened for a moment, then released me. Relieved, I turned to see the source of the voice. “Come on, man,” Spider continued, looking at Dime Bag with an expression that was once easygoing and serious. “Let the girl have a few days to learn the ropes.” Dime Bag looked at me for a moment, his eyes expressionless. Then he turned back to the table. Once there, he murmured something I didn’t hear, but that brought a laugh from the men.
In a shaking voice, I gave my drink order to Larry and pulled my skirt back down. I was on the verge of tears, but I would be damned if I was going to let the men see that. While I was waiting on the drinks, Spider appeared at my side. “I’m sorry about Dime,” he said quietly. “He’s not a bad guy, necessarily. He just never learned his manners. A little too used to taking what he wants without asking.” I turned to face him. The unexpected kindness in Spider’s eyes was too much for me, and my lip trembled. A single tear ran down my face, and I swiped at it. “Thank you,” I whispered.
Spider pressed his lips together and frowned, looking as though he wanted to say more. In the end, he simply nodded. “Not a problem, darlin’.” He went back to his table and sat down, giving me one final wink before he turned his attention to his friends.
By now, Larry had finished the drinks, and I took them to the group, being careful to stay beyond arm’s reach of Dime Bag. As I was walking back to the bar with my empty tray, Candy emerged from the back hallway. “What the fuck is this? Who took my tables?” she demanded, looking angrily at the tables where the Fugitives were sitting.
“You were on break,” I replied. “I just got them started with their drinks. They’re all yours.”
“Stay outta my section, bitch! The Fugitives reserve tables in my section because they want me to serve them, not some skinny little skank with no tits!” Her face was red and contorted as she bit out her words. She definitely has her sights set on something, I thought. Maybe one of the MC, or maybe she wants to be a stripper. The thought of ‘stripper’ being a desirable career path was a strange one, but I wasn’t about to meddle in Candy’s life. She struck me as mostly harmless, but she could definitely make working here unpleasant. One more person to stay away from.
Thankfully, the rest of my shift passed without any more drama. The most eventful part of it was watching the stream of women on stage, taking their skimpy clothing off, gyrating suggestively in front of the men, and giving lap dances. I had never been in a strip club before yesterday. I tried to keep my emotional distance from it and just take it for what it was. I wondered if the strippers were happy. If any of them enjoyed dancing and taking their clothes off for men. If they liked their lives away from the club.
Eventually, around one a.m., the shows ended, and customers began to trickle out. Larry told Candy and me we could take off for the night, and that he and Jan would close up. Candy immediately pulled off her apron, said goodnight to Larry and Jan (pointedly ignoring me), and walked out. I thanked Larry and went in back to grab my things, then walked back out through the front door to the parking lot. When I got outside, I saw Spider leaning against his bike, smoking a cigarette. He was alone. “Hey, Tina,” he called.
“Hey,” I replied, walking up to him. “Thanks again for earlier.”
He nodded and smiled. “How was your first night, other than that?”
“It was fine,” I smiled. In the subdued light, his face was half in shadow, but I could still make out the outline of his sensuous lips. They looked soft. His black T-shirt stretched against his muscular chest. God, he was sexy. Was this really the guy who had come to tell my parents about Kyle’s
death, all those years ago?
“You need a ride?” he asked.
“No, that’s my car over there,” I replied, pointing to my battered blue Honda Civic.
“Okay, then.” Spider stood up and threw down his cigarette, grinding it out with his boot. He stepped closer to me, and with every inch he came nearer I swore I could feel the heat of his skin. “You have a safe drive home, you hear?” he murmured.
“Thanks,” I said softly. My heart was pounding in my chest. He stepped away and turned back toward the bar. I let my breath out in a whoosh, suddenly realizing I had been holding it.
In a daze, I got into my car and drove away. My mind was spinning with everything that had happened that night. As I drove, Spider’s face filled my thoughts. Whatever I had expected him to be like, he was so different. I wondered if he had a girlfriend. A strange ache appeared in my stomach as I thought this.
Dammit, Tallie. I needed to focus. I knew that living the reality of what I was doing would be hard, harder than just fantasizing about it. I needed to remember that Spider was the enemy. It was because of him that Kyle was dead. I had to focus.
I needed to remember my hate.
Chapter Three
Thursday’s shift passed much the same way Wednesday’s had, except that I was ready for the scene at Teasers. The MC came in again – the same guys as the night before, plus a few more – and I gladly seated them at Candy’s section and let her take care of them. She was clearly happier to let them manhandle her than I had been, even seeming to encourage it as she stuck out her tits and made sure her ass brushed against one or another of the MC’s arms. I had to admit, she was probably racking up a seriously nice tip with that kind of “service.”
Fugitives MC Page 2
