by Nicole Fox
Anya’s face went red, and I could tell that her brain was going into overdrive trying to justify hooking up with me while looking down on other girls who do the same thing. But I didn’t have time for her to resolve this little flare-up of mental confusion. I hopped off the bike and started towards the entrance.
“So, stay at my side, don’t get smart, and pay attention.”
Anya gave a quick little nod, and I watched her throat bob a little as she swallowed nervously.
With that, I opened the doors and stepped in.
The music hit me like a damn kick from a mule; I could barely hear myself think. The place was in its usual dark, cave-like state—you wouldn’t know it was a sunny, clear day outside from being in here. My eyes adjusted to the dim lights, and I scanned the place, seeing all the familiar faces either bellied up to the bar, playing pool, or tossing darts. Whiskey got thrown back, and raucous yells sounded out over the music.
I was back home.
“There you are, you little fuck!”
I turned in the direction of the voice and saw that it had come from Rottweiler—Rott for short-, one of the brothers that I was closest to. He walked towards me on whiskey-unsteady legs and soon was towering over Anya and me, all six-foot-seven of him looming in front of us like a statue. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, his brown beard was tied in its usual braid, and he was clad all in the standard get-up of jeans, a T-shirt, and his kutte, a pair of heavy boots finishing the look.
“Where the hell you been, man?” Rott asked, slapping his hand to mine and giving me a quick pat on the back. “You’ve been off the radar for days!”
“Had some shit to do out of town,” I said. “Took longer than I thought.”
“Well, shit, welcome back, man,” he said.
Then he gave Anya a slow once-over.
“Pick up a little souvenir while you were out?” he asked, a devious grin on his lips.
“Maybe,” I said. “But she’s all mine for now, so don’t get any fuckin’ ideas.”
With that, I gave Anya swift slap on the ass. She let out a little shriek and jumped a good foot forward as my hand connected. I could tell that she wanted to say something bratty, but thinking better of it, did nothing but form her mouth into a tight, hard line.
“Finders keeps,” said Rott.
“Hey, you seen Donny around?” I asked, my blood getting hotter as soon as the name passed my lips.
“Donny? No, man—he’s been gone, too. Haven’t seen hide-nor-hair of that little shit.”
It was what I thought—he was lying low until I was taken out.
“You might want to check in with the bosses,” Rott said. “They’ve been wondering just where the hell you’ve been.”
“That’s where I’m headed now.”
’Fore you do …” said Rott before rushing off with loping steps toward the bar, returning moments later with a pair of whiskey shots.
We tapped rims and knocked back the shots, the whiskey burning as it went down—just the way I liked it.
“Ain’t a welcome back without some fuckin’ booze, eh brother?” said Rott, his voice eager.
“Fuck, yeah,” I said, giving Rott another half-hug before heading back to the other end of the bar.
“What the hell was that ass slap about?” Anya hissed.
“First of all, keep the fuckin’ sass to yourself. Second, you need to get in character—a real side chick would’ve loved a slap like that. Take a look at Annabelle over there,” I said, nodding towards a curvy little thing standing on the outside of one of the knots of bikers that filled the place. “Take a look at what that tat on her lower back says.”
Anya squinted. “‘Property of Smitty’? What?”
I let out a barking laugh.
“That’s horrible!” said Anya. “How could a woman get something like that put on her body? Who would make her do that?”
“Lady, not a single person ‘made’ her get that. I was there when she got it; biggest smile I’ve ever seen on an old lady’s face when Smitty said she was allowed to get his name on her body.”
Anya was speechless—I loved it.
“‘Old lady”?” she asked once she finally got the nerve. “But she can’t be older than me!”
“Yeah, just means steady girl. Age’s got nothing to do with it.”
I gave my greetings to the usual faces, slapping backs and knocking back shots as I made my way to the back of the bar. Anya stayed close; I could tell she was feeling small under the pervy stares she was getting from the men and the sizing-up looks she was getting from the old ladies.
Eventually we made our way to the back of the bar. I opened the steel-handled door that led to the back offices, the whiskey pounding through my system as we headed down the hallway where the bosses could be found. Stopping at a set of double doors, I turned to Anya.
“You know what I said about keeping your mouth shut? It goes double now. I shouldn’t even be bringing you back here; I’m only doing it because if I left you out at the bar one of those assholes would drag you off by your hair caveman-style in minutes.”
Anya nodded, her eyes wide. I think she was getting the idea by now.
I gave the doors a quick rap.
“Who the fuck is it?” came the booming voice from within.
“Bryce.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Come in,” said another voice.
I opened the door, revealing the office beyond. The room was nice compared to the rest of the bar—the floors and walls were actually clean, the rock posters on the walls were framed, and the soft lighting reminded me of what you’d find in a library. There were leather chairs here and there, and in the middle of the room was a large round table covered in money and playing cards. Around it were Roach, Papa, and Thorne, the three bosses of the Ancestors. On each of their laps was a pretty, scantily-dressed young thing, each playing with their designated boss’s beard or hair as the bosses played cards and took pulls from the bottle of expensive whiskey that sat on the table.
“You’re back,” said Papa, the oldest boss, a severely fat man with a booming voice and a face like a bulldog. “Where the fuck you been?”
“And who the fuck is she?” asked Roach, the youngest and ugliest of the bosses, pointing at Anya.
“New chick,” I said.
“ I’m occupied right now,” said Roach. “Otherwise I wouldn’t mind taking her for a test spin.”
Thorne said nothing, instead looking Anya and me over. He was the most senior of the three bosses, and though we didn’t have a single leader, whichever of the bosses had the most dominant personality tended to be the one to call the shots. Nowadays, that was Thorne. Before my dad had taken off, however, the two of them had butted heads constantly, disagreeing on every little thing. With Pops gone, Thorne was free to run the club as he saw fit.
“You better have a damn good reason for bringing some piece of ass back here,” said Thorne, his sturdy, muscular frame still and calm as he looked at me with steely gray eyes that seemed to bore right through me.
“Yeah, that she’s here as a ‘welcome back’ present!” said Roach before breaking into snorting laughter at his own joke.
“You wish, shithead,” I said with a smile, letting Roach know that I was just busting his balls.
Roach laughed loudly again before taking a firm squeeze of the ass of the blonde who was sitting in his lap.
“You—sit down,” said Thorne to Anya.
Anya complied, rushing to the nearest chair and taking a seat.
“Speak,” said Thorne. “Tell me why you’ve been off the radar.”
“It’s Donny,” I said.
“What about him?” said Papa, leaning forward in interest.
Papa had vouched for Donny a few years back; it behooved Papa to know what kind of shit one of his “kids” was getting up to.
“He tried to kill me,” I said, getting right to the point.
“What?” asked P
apa, his foggy eyes going wide as he pushed his girl off of his lap.
“I went out of town to take out that Spider asshole, and the whole thing turned out to be a set-up. I got jumped by Spider and his thugs and spent the next day laid up in the hospital. This chick here, Anya, is the only reason I’m still alive. Then they came for me at the hospital, trying to finish the job. We barely got away.”
“Shit,” said Roach. “But why the hell is she still with you now?”
“Because they tracked her down, figuring I was with her. They tried to kill her, her brothers, then me.”
“And you know this was Donny?” asked Papa. “What proof do you have?”
“Spider said it himself,” I said. “How else would he know who Donny was?”
“This isn’t good, Thorne,” said Roach, pouring himself another shot of whiskey. “We all know what it means for a brother to try and take out an Ancestor without approval.”
“Death,” said Papa, the word slipping passed his cracked lips.
Thorne said nothing, instead thinking over what I’d said. He poured himself a finger of whiskey and took a small sip.
“Your word against his,” said Thorne. “That’s all you got.”
“What?” I said, the word blurting out of my mouth. “You need more than that?”
“I know what the situation’s been like between Donny and you; he thinks you haven’t earned your stripes, thinks your pops only vouched for you ’cause you’re his boy and he was on the way out. We support you being a full member, but that doesn’t mean we can shut him up. Who’s to say that you aren’t planning to take him out before he tries anything?”
I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists. He had a point.
“It’s true!” said Anya, standing up and raising her voice. “I heard Spider say that Donny was planning it.”
Thorne took a slow sip of whiskey, letting Anya’s words hang in the air.
“Bryce, will you please, pretty please, with sugar on top, put a leash on that bitch of yours?” he said, his words as calm and clear as ever.
I shot a silencing glance to Anya. She got the hint and sat back down.
“You want to settle things with Donny, you find some proof. That means more than just us taking your word for it.”
“What then? You want me to find this Spider asshole and drag him here by the scruff of his goddamn neck?”
Thorne threw a harsh glance my way, letting me know very gently that I’d stepped out of line.
“That’s a start. That could work. Who knows? You’re a smart guy; I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”
“Bu—”
“That’s all,” said Thorne, tossing back the last of his whiskey. “Now, unless you’re gonna let us see if this chick’s loud mouth is good for anything but speaking out of turn, you’d best get on it.”
I knew that once Thorne had made a decision, there was no talking him out of it. I looked at Anya, tilted my head towards the door, and stormed out, the doors slamming behind us as we left.
Chapter Seventeen
Anya
I walked as fast as I could to keep up with Bryce as he stormed out of the bar. He blew past all of the guys in there who wanted to buy him a drink as he rushed towards the front door. I knew I’d screwed up by speaking up, but I couldn’t just say nothing as those men called Bryce a liar, especially when I knew something that could’ve made a difference.
My eyes burned as we stepped outside; the bright light of day was a hard adjustment after being that dim bar. I felt fear creep into my stomach as Bryce paced back and forth once we got outside. His face was tight with anger and his hands were clenched into fists.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he said finally, his voice raised. “I told you to not say a goddamn word!”
“I … couldn’t just sit there …” I said, the volume of my voice barely above a squeak.
“You know what the word of some piece of ass means to those guys?” he asked as he stomped towards me. “Not a goddamn thing! And worse, you made it look like I need some woman to speak up for me!”
My face went hot with anxiety. My stomach tightened, and I began to feel lightheaded. He was righ—he had given me specific instructions and I had ignored them when I spoke up. I had begged him to let me come along to help, and I had ignored his specific terms.
But my pride wouldn’t let me back down. I began to bristle once the first wave of stress washed through me.
“But you weren’t even sticking up for yourself!” I said. “What was I supposed to do?”
“You don’t get it,” he said. “This isn’t your world; we don’t have meetings about quarterly reports and debate whose turn it is to run out to Chipotle for lunch. This is the wild fuckin’ west out here, and rules are different. This is life and death!”
I said nothing, unable to argue with his point that somewhere in the back of my head was the idea that this was basically the white collar world only with more leather and motorcycles. But this was silly—everything I’d seen disputed this. People didn’t get murdered in boardrooms, for one.
“Sorry,” I said, my voice taking on a sheepish tone once again.
“You fucked up in there,” said Bryce, his voice now low, “but you’re lucky that the only consequence of this particular screw-up was making me look bad. You don’t do what I say from here on out, it could end up with one or both of us getting fuckin’ killed. You got it?”
I nodded, my eyes on the rough gray of the gravel parking lot in front of us.
“This isn’t Ally McBeal,” he said. “That strong independent woman shit will get you absolutely fucking nothing here, maybe a slap in the face, depending on who you mouth off to.”
I kicked the gravel in front of me, feeling small and silly, like a scolded child.
Bryce took a deep breath and walked a slow loop, seemingly understanding that he’d made his point.
“Sorry,” I repeated.
“Just don’t do it again,” said Bryce.
A moment passed, the sun hanging bright and high in its afternoon descent.
“So, what’s the plan now?” I asked, ready to get back on track.
“I guess we find Spider and see if we can get him to blab about Donny again.”
“You think that he’ll just come with us?”
“Not for nothing,” he said. “But maybe a few thousand slipped into his pocket might get him to sing. If not, we drag his ass here whether he likes it or not.”
“Okay,” I said, feeling determined once again. “Then tell me what to do.”
“The exact six words I was hoping to hear from you,” he said, his smirk returning to his face. “How do you feel about doing a little undercover work?”
“Ready,” I said.
“Good.”
He explained what he had in mind, me going to Rooster’s with Bryce holding back and watching. Once there, I’d keep an eye out for Spider. When he showed up, I’d do my best flirty girl impression to see if I could get him alone. Once he was, then it was on.
Bryce nodded once he finished, and soon we were back on the bike and on the road. As we rode, I rested my face against the cool leather of his kutte, letting the wind toss and whip my hair. I closed my eyes, my arms wrapped around his body, the bike rumbling between my legs. I’d only been riding for a couple of days, but I was already wondering how I’d gone so long without this experience in my life. Something about sitting with this powerful machine underneath me and a strong, skilled man in the driver’s seat … it was like nothing else.
Soon, we arrived back in Adeline. Bryce pulled into a parking lot across the street from Rooster’s, the neon rooster on the bar’s sign just as garish and ugly in the daytime as the night.
“I’ll be here. When you think you’ve got him baited, head to the bathroom and shoot me a text. You won’t see me, but I’ll be following you.”
I nodded, ready to set the plan in motion. As I walked across the four-lane road, I felt a sense of d
etermination. I was eager to prove myself useful, eager to redeem myself for the little breach of decorum at Bryce’s club. Once I reached the front door of the bar, I took a slow breath, wondering just how many dive bars I’d be in before this whole thing was said and done. I opened the door, revealing the dingy interior of Rooster’s. Like the motorcycle club bar, the windows were covered, and not a bit of natural light entered. I guess when you’re a drunk being reminded of the world outside the bar is the last thing you want. There were about a dozen surly-looking drunks here and there, all nursing their drinks, all with the same blank expression on their faces.
