Jester

by Lilly Atlas

  Around the table the men nodded. Anger simmered under the surface as Jester recalled the role the Grimm Brothers played in terrorizing Lila, Striker’s fiancé.

  “A prospect spotted three Grimms in our territory again. They ain’t even trying to hide the fact that they’re running their shit through our turf. We tried to play nice, and it didn’t work. Time to toss their asses out of our sandbox.”

  Jester reached behind Shiv’s chair and snagged a large, rolled up, laminated map of the area. He spread it out on the table, and placed a beer bottle on each corner to keep it flat. While Striker continued to speak, Jester used a black marker, circling locations on the map as Striker mentioned them.

  “We have intel, from a source in Mexico, that the Grimms are purchasing a fuck ton of product from the Fuentes Cartel. In two weeks they’ll be meeting with the cartel to exchange the cash for the goods. The transfer is set to take place here in our territory, down near the mountain pass. We need to hit that. Rumor has it near a million dead presidents will be handed over to travel down to Mexico that day. It’s a double win for us. Shows the Grimms what happens if they play on our side of the line, plus we get quite a nice chunk of change.”

  A low whistle sounded, and Jester looked up. Gumby had risen and leaned his lanky body forward, getting a closer view of the map.

  “We gonna hit them before or during the exchange?” Gumby asked, as he stretched an extra-long, gangly arm out and tapped a spot on the map that would be an ideal location to hit before the deal happened.

  “Before,” Jester answered. “We don’t give a shit about getting our hands on the drugs, but a million large? That is more than enough to have Snake shedding his skin.”

  Shiv nodded as the men snickered. “That gives us less than two weeks to come up with a solid grab plan. I want it swift and I want it fierce. A few humiliated Grimms along with the missing money will really drive home the fact that we won’t be bending over for them. They need to conduct their business in their own town.”

  “We’ll need to be prepared for retaliation as well,” Striker added. “Knowing Snake, there will be blowback for sure.”

  Striker’s gun had a bullet in the chamber with Snake’s name on it. Lila had been taken prisoner after she and Striker were ambushed by the Grimms. Striker nearly went out of his mind with worry for her. Jester took in the satisfaction on his VP’s face. This payback was overdue.

  Snake had taken control of the Grimm Brothers MC in a coup last year. The man he replaced vanished, although Jester was sure he was buried out in the desert somewhere.

  “We’ll work on how to handle whatever shit they throw our way when we finalize the details of the hit. Next week I want to discuss it further and come up with a solid plan to fuck over these assholes.” He looked around the room. Each man gave a short nod, bloodlust on their faces. “All right, then. Meeting adjourned.” Shiv banged his gavel on the table and the room erupted in excited chatter. The men were eager to get drinking and get some action.

  “Hell yeah.” Jester rubbed his hands together in anticipation of a wild night. “Bring on the pussy.”

  “You trying to tell us you haven’t already been laid today?” Hook ambled over. Topping out at just under six-foot and with a deadly left hook, he’d been one of the first friends Jester made when he prospected fifteen years ago. He slapped Jester on the back. “Congrats, bro.”

  “Thanks, Hook, and I’ll have you know my dick hasn’t been serviced in two days.”

  Striker snorted. “Two whole days, brother? You must be losing your charm.”

  “Fuck you all. Just because I haven’t been stupid enough to go and shackle myself to a buck ten lead weight—even if she is hot as hell—you think you can make fun of me? Not my fault married sex sucks balls…or doesn’t.” Jester smirked at his own play on words.

  “Hey, man I ain’t got no complaints. My fiancé is insatiable.” Striker smiled, the kind of goofy smile men got when they were totally whipped. He wore that smile most days since Lila agreed to marry him.

  “Yeah,” Hook added, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He constantly looked like he was in the ring, ready to box. “You oughta know, Jester. You’ve walked in on them enough times.”

  Jester shuddered dramatically. “Don’t remind me. I still have nightmares about Striker’s pasty white ass.”

  As they bantered, the three men made their way out of the meeting room into the open area of the clubhouse that was rapidly filling with club members, their ol’ ladies, and plenty of unattached broads looking to bag a biker for the night. Ol’ ladies weren’t always permitted at club parties, but since tonight was a celebration for Jester, everyone was invited.

  Off to the right, the heavy wooden bar was bustling. Three prospects scrambled to keep up with the demands for alcohol. Tables and chairs that normally littered the open area lined the edges of the room allowing space for dancing.

  When the partying crowd noticed Jester, the room erupted with cheers and whistles. Gumby dragged a chair over and shoved him down. He thrust a shot into each of Jester’s hands.

  After he tossed the fiery tequila back, a tall, leggy blonde with a teeny tiny hot pink skirt and nothing more than a black lacy bra that barely contained her stacked chest, straddled his lap and began to gyrate to the music.

  “Congrats, brother,” Gumby called out with a wink, pointing to the chick. “This one’s on me.”

  Jester linked his hands behind his head, and leaned back to enjoy the show. There were definitely some perks to this life.

  Chapter Three

  Emily stood on the sidewalk outside the gates to the No Prisoner’s clubhouse, reminding herself to breathe in an attempt to calm her frazzled nerves. Ever since she had peeled herself off the bathroom floor, more than twenty-four hours ago, she’d been a wreck. She had to make this work. A queasy stomach and trembling knees didn’t matter. The danger to Johnny’s life topped her fears. Unfortunately, the pep talk did nothing to settle her.

  While she waited for someone named Trixie to find her, Emily observed the various women flooding into the clubhouse for this party. Her eyes bugged a bit further each time a stick figure with giant boobs and a lingerie looking outfit tottered by on six-inch heels. Didn’t these girls have any self-respect? They looked like strippers and whores. Hell, for all she knew, they were strippers and whores.

  “You Emily?”

  She whipped around at the sound of a heavy New York accent calling her name. “Yes. You must be Trixie.” She held her hand out.

  Trixie ignored Emily’s outstretched palm and waved her own up and down looking like she drank sour milk. “Jesus, Snake told me I might need to bring ya something to wear, and now I’m glad I did. This ain’t no church function, honey. Come. You need to change so I don’t gotta be seen with you like that.”

  Emily glanced down. She’d worn a plain black tank top and dark skinny jeans with black heels. She looked good. Didn’t she? “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

  “What ain’t wrong with it? Girlfriend, it’s boring as shit. Follow me.”

  Trixie wrapped a hand—long, acrylic nails and all—around Emily’s wrist, and towed her clear across the parking lot, to a darkened spot behind a row of motorcycles.

  “Here, put this on, and be quick about it.” She pulled a small pile of clothes out of her bag and shoved them into Emily’s hands then crossed her arms and tapped her toe in an impatient rhythm.

  “You want me to change here?” She examined the two scraps of fabric Trixie handed her. “Um, where’s the rest of it?”

  “Honey, do you want me to leave you out here?” Trixie snapped her gum, giving Emily a frown that said she’d gladly ditch her.

  Trixie leaving was the last thing Emily wanted. Without Trixie, she’d never get into that party, and Johnny’s life depended on it. “No, no! I’ll just be a second.”

  Emily stepped into a skirt that barely covered her ass before wiggling her jeans down her legs. With a quick peek around t
o make sure no one was watching, she whipped off her tank top, and stuffed herself into the low cut shimmery red halter Trixie supplied. She’d always been well-endowed, and right now her breasts were barely contained by the material.

  “Hmmm.” Trixie tapped her plump electric pink lips with an equally shocking pink nail. “Snake didn’t tell me you had that rack.” She shrugged. “Whatevs, it’s good enough. They’ll like it in there for sure.”

  She pulled a compact out of her clutch, and used the glow from a street lamp to fluff her shoulder length frizzy blonde hair, and shimmy her own breasts up higher in her sparkly tube top.

  Seeing Trixie’s skirt, Emily no longer worried that the one she was wearing would be the shortest or tightest at the party. It didn’t matter. If skimpy clothes got her closer to saving Johnny, then she’d wear nothing but a headband and heels.

  “Here’s the apartment key. You know the address?”

  Unease crawled up Emily’s spine. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Trixie rolled her eyes. “Snake didn’t tell you? Jesus, I gotta do everything,” she muttered the last part under her breath. “You can’t stay at your place. No Prisoners ain’t welcome in Grimm territory and you live in Grimm country. So if you want to make friends here you need to live in town. I got a friend who’s away for a month. This is her key.” She handed it over and rattled off the address.

  Emily shook her head and recited the address in her head, over and over. With a shaking hand, she took the key from Trixie and dropped it in her clutch, trying not to think about how much she didn’t want to sleep in some random person’s apartment for two weeks.

  Save Johnny. It was her new mantra.

  Trixie started to walk away.

  “Wait,” Emily called.

  With a huff the other woman turned back around.

  “If these clubs are such enemies, how is it that you are friends with both?” She needed to be certain Trixie wasn’t going to stab her in the back.

  One corner of Trixie’s mouth raised. “Honey, you ever been fucked by one of these guys?”

  Heat rushed to Emily’s face. “Um, no I haven’t.”

  “You should think about it. You sure could use it.” She shrugged before turning her back on Emily once again. “I don’t give a shit what the guys think about each other. I’m here for one thing,” she called as she resumed walking, the seductive sway of her hips validating her words.

  Ok then. Emily forced herself to forget about the apartment situation for the time being and focus on getting information.

  One crisis at a time.

  “Let’s go.” Trixie stomped back to Emily, grabbed her wrist again, and dragged her toward the entrance where an overweight man with curly blond hair and a bushy beard was guarding the door.

  “Hey, Tank,” Trixie said running a finger down his chest. “Save a dance for me and my girl, will ya?”

  He nodded, his eyes glued to Trixie’s breasts. Emily turned her body slightly, so her own cleavage wasn’t visible to him. She did not want him to notice her and focus his creepy attention on her body. “You got it, Trix.”

  Trixie towed Emily through the door, and turned to her. “Okay, girl, I got you in, but I ain’t gonna stick with you all night. I gotta get mine.”

  Emily scanned the clubhouse, eyes wide with shock. She turned to ask Trixie to stay with her for a few more minutes, until she got her bearings, but the other woman was already gone, lost in the throng of dancing bodies. Sucking in a deep breath, Emily held it for two seconds then blew out slowly, hoping her heart rate would normalize.

  Despite feeling naked in the clothing Trixie provided her, Emily was actually one of the most clothed women in the room. More than half the women looked to be wearing nothing more than lingerie as they undulated against various men everywhere Emily turned. As she continued her perusal of the party, she noticed multiple men smoking weed, a number receiving lap dances, and—wait, was that… Yes, up against a wall in the darkened, yet still blatantly public, corner of the room, a woman writhed as a man sucked with enthusiasm on her nipple.

  Holy crap, Emily was so far out of her depth. The urge to run was almost unbearably strong. She closed her eyes and conjured up the image of her brother she’d branded onto her brain yesterday. Remembering his bloodied face and glazed stare was the only thing that stopped her from bolting for the exit.

  When she opened her eyes, the exhibitionist couple against the wall was still in her direct line of sight. The man had switched his attention to the woman’s other breast, and she appeared to be enjoying his devotion to the task very much. Her head was thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open. Emily assumed she was moaning, but was too far away to hear much of anything over the pulsing beat of heavy metal music.

  As Emily watched the woman grind her pelvis against her lover’s thigh, a tingle started to develop between her own legs. She was mortified to realize the scene before her was turning her on. The look on the woman’s face was one of ecstasy, and the effect wasn’t lost on Emily.

  Oh God! What was wrong with her? She shouldn’t be watching them at all, let alone enjoying it. She rolled her eyes. What was wrong was probably the fact that no man had ever put that look on her own face.

  She gave herself a mental shake as she shifted her gaze away from the show, only to land on a different performance. A giant of a man sat sprawled in a chair, leaning back, his fully tattooed arms sticking out to the sides, bent at the elbows with his fingers interlocked behind his head. A woman wearing a silver G-string and shimmery triangle bra with tall fuck me heels was giving him one hell of a lap dance.

  Emily couldn’t make out much of his face, his arms blocked the view, but he certainly appeared to appreciate the blonde as her assets swayed at eye level. She observed him through the smoky haze of the room for a few seconds before it dawned on her that she’d been standing in the same spot like an idiot for five minutes.

  Although not much of a drinker, if there was ever a time for liquid courage, this was it. She turned toward the bar and forced her feet to step and her knees to keep from knocking together. Today’s fear wasn’t quite as consuming as yesterday’s, but it stayed at the forefront of her mind.

  “Hey there, darlin’, I’m Kenny. What can I get ya?” the man working the bar asked her.

  Oops, Emily hadn’t thought far enough ahead to plan what she wanted to order. With a quick glance to her left, she noticed a tough looking lady toss back a shot like it was water. That’s what she needed, little liquid, big impact. “I’ll have what she had.” She motioned toward the girl next to her.

  “One shot of tequila coming up.”

  Tequila? She’d make a complete fool out of herself for sure.

  Kenny returned quickly and placed the shot on the bar in front of her. Emily eyed it like it was a cockroach, and the handsome young bartender laughed as he ran a hand over his buzzed blond hair, ending with a scratch to the back of his neck. “You sure you want that, honey?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He laughed again, and a wide smile broke out across his face, which was covered with the same blond stubble his head was. “In that case I’ll join you. A girl as pretty as you should never drink alone.”

  She smiled at him. Could she befriend him? Would he spill club secrets she could pass on to Snake? The thought made her feel dirty.

  “Bottoms up, darlin’.”

  Emily picked up the shot glass, stared at it for a split second, tilted her head back, and slammed it down in one gulp. Her eyes flooded as fire burned a path down to her stomach. When she brought her head back down and returned the glass to the bar top she wanted to pat herself on the back. By some miracle she’d managed not to cough and sputter.

  “Well, there ya go, honey.” Kenny laughed. “Nice job. Want another?”

  Emily shook her head. “Just a beer, please.” Two of those and she’d be dancing on the tables with the rest of the women here.

  Kenny shot her a knowing grin before he reached under the bar
and snagged a beer. With a quick flip of his hand he popped the metallic cap off and held the frosty bottle out to her.

  “Thanks.” She smiled at him. It was now or never. “So, um, save me a dance?” Trixie’s line worked on the big guy at the door, so why not now?

  “Sorry, honey. I’m a prospect.” He pointed to a patch over his heart that read Prospect. “That means no club who—uh, girls, for me.”

  Emily blinked away tears. It was unrealistic to expect that the first person she talked to would spill their guts so she could save Johnny, but it’s what she’d hoped.

  “Have fun tonight,” he said with a wink as he moved on down the bar.

  Emily grabbed the beer and spun around, leaning her back against the bar while she surveyed the room and tried to decide her next move. How the hell was she supposed to pull this off? She stuck out like a frightened cat at the dog park.

  After taking a sip of her beer, she lowered the bottle, and her eyes locked on the bronze colored ones of the guy who she’d witnessed getting a lap dance. The man was enormous, he had to be close to six and a half feet tall. Even his muscles had muscles. She couldn’t tell exactly how long his dark hair was, but it had to be fairly long because it was tied back at the nape of his neck.

  He looked intense, tough, and more than a little scary, but man, was he gorgeous. The tingling she’d experienced earlier came back full force as the intimidating goliath walked in her direction.

  Her insides shook, and Emily took a subtle glimpse right and left to see if he was walking toward someone on either side of her, but his attention remained trained on her as he advanced with purpose.

  Showtime.

  She swallowed her nerves. As soon as she was done here, Johnny was safe. No matter what it took—she’d get this man to talk to her. Problem was, she had no game and no clue how to entice a man like this.