by Hazel Parker
A group of older gentlemen sat with young blondes on their laps.
“Hey,” Luke said, rubbing his head.
“Can I help you?” asked the bearded man, the most senior of the group.
“No, sir. I just don’t know how you can stand it.”
“Stand what?” Bearded Man asked.
“Well, if someone said that about my daughter—”
“Somebody talking about my Stacey?” he said, gripping the handle of his beer bottle.
“Is that you, miss?” Luke said to the blonde Bearded Man insinuated was his daughter.
“Yeah,” she said before she blew a bubble, popping it loudly. “What they say?”
“Well, I don’t say those kinds of things aloud about ladies,” Luke said as if he were embarrassed.
“What did he say?” the man with the huge beer belly said, sitting up straighter.
Luke huffed for effect. “He said, she’s got a pretty face but could benefit from a little bit more in the back. He offered to bang her a few times to help her along if she can’t get the money for a little plastic surgery.”
“What?” Bearded Man asked, standing in an outrage, all his friends following suit.
“Who said it?” Beer Belly asked, standing last and peering across the room like his perpetrator would somehow come into view. “Point him out.”
“Guy in the blue shirt,” Luke said, nodding to me, which was the signal.
Jason waited until Bearded Man came over and, before he could speak, Jason slugged him. Warren, on the other hand, punched Beer Belly, which set off a frenzy of flying fists.
In a bar fight, everybody was a potential victim. Everybody was also a potential combatant. You could never tell who was going to join a bar fight; people would throw a punch for no apparent reason, and that was why I chose that bar as my scene.
I made my way across the room and pulled Casper from the clutches of another man and punched him in the face. I was out to do as much damage as possible. My hand followed the other from his face to his stomach.
A sudden gush of pain jolted me as Casper kicked me, causing me to slide to the floor. I took him with me, using his body weight against him and, once on the floor, I rolled until I was sitting on his torso.
“You can thank the Bandits for this ass whooping,” I whispered as he struggled under me.
His eyes widened before hardening and he fought back with much more vigor. “Motherfucker!”
I brought my fist to his nose, snapping it into a smattering mess of cartilage and blood. Casper acted as if he couldn’t feel it and threw his arm up. The bottom of his wrist caught my chin and my jaw closed too quickly, clipping my tongue. My mouth filled with the taste of blood.
I grabbed a chair and smashed it over him, causing his body to go limp. Seeing that he was too banged up to move but was conscious, I leaned down and whispered in his ear. “You’ve just been robbed.”
With my goal completed, I sat up and caught the eye of my partners. Each one signaled the other, and together we ran out the back.
I came. I saw. I conquered. I rode on my bike, in formation with the crew back to our headquarters. In total, the entire fight was a little under ten minutes. We couldn’t stay longer because the cops were coming. Once at HQ, we debriefed and a few brothers poured themselves some brew.
“Thanks, fellas.”
“No problem,” Evan said.
“You know we’ll always have your back, brother,” Luke said.
I looked around. Most of us were unscathed. Luke had a cut along his cheek. It was thin, like it came from glass. I had no face injuries, but several bruises were on the way from Casper’s rebuttal. Evan’s hair looked out of place, which was unusual. He always looked so in control and kempt. Gus had a slight limp, like someone might have kicked him in the leg, and Jason was wet. From the smell, I knew someone poured beer on him.
“Good job tonight, boys,” Gus said, sitting heavily in a chair.
Everyone looked tired but me; I still felt the rush of adrenaline. I wasn’t turning in for another few hours; the night was still so young.
“I’m out of here, guys,” I said, adjusting my cut.
“Where you going?” one of the prospects asked from behind the bar.
“To celebrate,” I said without turning around. “Good night.”
There weren’t too many places that played good music and had beautiful women. Oasis was one of the few places. With one look at the leather on my back, the bouncer let me in with a reduced fee. The music and moving bodies were like physical electricity. I melted into the crowd without trying, and though I wasn’t dancing, I could feel the energy sway through me. This was exactly where I needed to be. The music was loud and the beat was so heavy that I could feel it in my bones and in moments, I was sweaty despite the cold chill I had from riding my bike.
I skirted along the edge of the wall to get a better look at the people. The bar seemed to be the only place with good lighting.
“Let me get a Jack and coke,” I said, yelling over the bar. He moved quickly and, with glass in hand, I stood to the side, in the shadows, drinking. Plenty of women came by, some more subtle than others, asking for a dance or more. I don’t know why, but something held me back. I was waiting for something. Somebody was going to get under me tonight and I wasn’t sure who it was going to be, but I would know her when I saw her.
The strobe lights masked so many movements, the sway of bodies pausing in different moments against the lights. The music hit a crescendo and something to the left caught my eye. The strobe lights flashed and I saw ivory skin highlighted. Her brown, wavy hair was haloed by the lights. I started at her stilettoes and worked my way up to the small pieces of fabric she was wearing, barely covering the skin I wanted to lick. It was pretty packaging, ready for me to unwrap.
My cock stiffened, straining against my jeans as she swayed on the stool to the music. When our eyes finally connected, she smirked like she could hear every nasty thing running through my mind. I smiled back and made my way over to talk to her. By the way she was looking at me, I could tell she was thinking of doing the exact same things I wanted to do to her. Somebody was getting fucked tonight. Casper already got fucked up; now I was ready to fuck.
The crowd parted and I flowed with it to her. I was going to buy the lady a drink.
Chapter 2
Molly
You better dance tonight, too.
I huffed impatiently at my phone. Ashlyn was driving me up the wall with all her texts. First she harassed me when I got off work, making sure I was still going. She texted me every hour on the hour, interrupting any chance I had of a nap to make sure I was going. Then she texted about my outfit until I changed. Now she was checking my behavior once I got inside. Leave it to her to shame me into looking sluttier. I still couldn’t believe she got me to agree to go to a club. Alone at that.
“Go out,” she said. “Stop being so boring,” she said.
She said that often, but I liked boring – my childhood had been exciting enough.
“It’ll be fun,” she said, and yet there I was without her. I could have sworn her catching a cold meant I was getting out of jail. Not so. Instead, I was there, soldiering forward and alone.
I will. I texted back.
Don’t be a clam and hold up the wall either. Find a fine man to dance with… or take you home. Either option is good.
LOL. In your dreams.
Exactly. In my dreams. So why don’t you make them come true?
I don’t think so, chick. Your dream. My reality.
Ugh. You’re such a bore. You realize you’re 30. Not 80. Right?
Duh, girl. 80-year-old me would not have these tits.
Seriously. I went all out. I had on a white vest. It was sleeveless. The only thing holding it together was a small gold chain, just below the curve of my breasts. It was cut low, giving everyone a good view of my chest and stomach. I had to dig
way in the back of my closet to find it. I hadn’t worn anything like it in a long time. But I still had the body for it.
Before, I had on a pair of wedges, a jean skirt, and a plain, V-neck shirt. My long, brown hair was pulled into a messy bun with fun wisps curling near my face. Because of the incessant texting, I snapped a picture for approval. I looked nice. Her scathing response was quick.
Change. NOW.
Why? I like it. It’s not too much.
If by not too much you mean boring, then hell yeah, bitch. It’s not too much. I know you have better clothes than that. Try again.
I’m not trying to dress up too much. I don’t want to call any attention to myself.
The phone rang in my hand and with a sigh and some regret, I answered. “Do you know what the purpose of going out is?”
She didn’t wait for me to answer.
“To get attention, girl! Change that outfit. Now. You know you’re barely five feet. Put on some real heels!”
“Hey! I’m five foot five.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, ignoring me. “I don’t care what you say. Change it. Your friend on her death bed demands it.”
I laughed out loud. “You have a cold, not even the flu. You’ll be back this week, so that’s not an overly strong argument.”
“Change,” she huffed.
“Why?” I whined like I was having an argument with my mom.
“Because you look like a teeny bopper who just got permission to go out and who doesn’t want her dad to get mad at her outfit.”
She had a kind of brutal honesty that tested most friendships, but I appreciated it. I always knew where I stood with her. I stared at myself in the mirror and turned to the side. “I do not. This says classy and sassy.”
“Is that what you think it says? Believe me sweetheart. It most certainly does not. It looks like the outfits moms wear when they go pick up their kids to show that they’ve still got it, but the only reason their hair is in a bun is because it’s a sticky matted mess and, underneath all the makeup, they’re exhausted. Are you a soccer mom? No. You’re not. It does not say sassy nor classy. I’m almost positive it says you didn’t even try. I bet that was the first outfit you put on! Wasn’t it?” she accused.
I wasn’t going to tell her she was right. I thought about what I would wear all day at the office and decided on this before I was even home.
She took my silence for what it was – guilty admission.
“So help me God, Molly, if you don’t change, I will tell everyone the revolving door story.”
I gasped in horror. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me, bitch,” Ashlyn said.
And that was how I came to be in my ensemble, half-naked and catching the eye of every man with eyeballs in front of the club. I have to say, it was nice skipping the line though.
I’m going in now.
Have fun!
I smiled at the screen and moved to put it in my clutch, stopping only because it vibrated again.
And do everything I would do.
It buzzed again with a smirking emoji, then buzzed again.
And if you’re willing to play dense about that, I mean find someone to clean out the cobwebs in that kitty.
I could only shake my head as I laughed. The bouncer checked me and my clutch before opening the door. The cool air of the night was no competition for the damp air inside the club. It was dark, but full of strobe lights. The only stationary light was at the bar, so that’s where I went.
A man with slicked back hair stood behind the counter, flipping bottles in the air like a circus performer. I bet he called himself a mixologist instead of a bartender.
“What can I get you?” he yelled over the music.
“A margarita, please.”
“Coming right up,” he said, snatching a bottle of tequila from the counter and tossing it behind his back.
This place was much fancier than I thought it would be, but still equally up to my low standards. This wasn’t the city; this was Willow Springs, Arizona, small town and just like I remembered it to be. The only reason I was there was so none of my coworkers or cases saw me. Not that I was ashamed, because I deserved a night out like everybody else, but I worked hard to have respect in my profession. I wasn’t going to kill it by giving fuel to gossips. That was why I was an hour and thirty minutes away from Flagstaff, where I worked.
“Here you go, sweetheart,” he said, sliding me my drink.
I turned on the barstool that I’d managed to steal before another girl could take it and surveyed the club. It was full, packed to the brim with dancing bodies and had half naked women and hot men looking for something or someone to get into.
Beautiful men weren’t hard to find in Flagstaff, but their men were more polished, refined. The men here were rugged. Hard jaws with even harder bodies, loose morals, and interested in any woman with loose pants. I smiled into my drink. It had been awhile since I’d been there, but ironically, I didn’t feel as out of place as I thought I would.
I drained my cup and slid off the barstool. I was sufficiently warmed from my drink and ready to dance. I didn’t come all the way there, looking like I did, to not shake my body.
It was easy to join the throng of people. The beat shook the floor so hard I could feel it in my shoes. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and let everything go. I didn’t think about work, the life I had, the life I left, and how close I felt to the person I used to be – in that moment, I was nothing but the music. I shook, gyrated, flung my heavy mane, and put my hands in the air. I had partners, some men and some women, but I kept dancing. I danced better by myself, and only when I was drenched in sweat and sufficiently wobbly on my feet did I take myself back to the bar.
I ordered another margarita and smiled at the hunk of a man standing at the end of the bar, sipping something dark from his glass. The alcohol was soaked up by the chicken wings I ate at the house, but still present enough for me to smile first and caution myself later. He was beautiful, the strobe lights adding shadows to his face, making his beard look full and soft. His dark-blond hair was wild, like he just had sex. I could see his arms were covered in tattoos and his chest was bare under the leather vest he wore. The plains of his chest looked smooth and hard, like granite. I wanted to touch and find out for myself. Feeling my eyes on him, he turned and smiled mischievously.
His eyes held mine and everything in me felt drawn, pulled to him. I resisted and my hair stood on end like I’d just been electrocuted. He could feel it too. He walked toward me in even strides, the crowd parting for him automatically. Before I knew it, he was standing over me. My eyes took him in up close and I could see his were blue. Light blue, like ice. And his arms were covered in tattoos. His chest looked unreal with muscles, but I was wrong: it wasn’t smooth. It was bruised and lined with scars I wanted to run my tongue over.
“Enjoying the view?” he said, leaning down to talk into my ear.
“More than you know.”
He braced himself on the counter with enough distance to not be awkward, but close enough to hear me. “Let me buy you a drink?”
“You can do more than that.”
He smirked and licked his lips “I like a girl who knows what she wants.”
I giggled and walked my finger up his arm. “Well in that case, I want a tall glass of you.”
He didn’t even look surprised. With his looks, I bet he got something like that all the time. “Here or somewhere a little private?” he asked.
I lived an hour away and what I wanted to do with him would die on that long drive. “What I’m thinking involves a bed,” he said making his intentions clear.
“Lead the way.”
He turned and held out his hand for me to take. He didn’t look back, not even considering the idea I might not take his hand. For the first time, I saw what was on the back of his vest – an insignia I knew well. A cartoon of a man with a cowboy hat and a bandana covering
everything except his eyes. Underneath were the words “Los Banditos.”
The bandits.
My hand hung in mid-air as I debated taking his hand. He turned around, sensing my hesitation.
“Something wrong?”
In reality, no. Nothing was wrong. I didn’t have any reason to feel guilty or scared. I was just a normal woman. I didn’t owe anyone anything. I owed myself some pleasure. The kind I hadn’t had in a year and two, if we’re counting actual dick and not the rubber, silicone kind.
“No,” I said, looking up from his vest to his face. “It’s nothing. Nothing at all.”
Chapter 3
Ethan
I pulled her, pushing against the people until we were outside. She followed me a distance before pulling away just before we got to my bike.
“I’ll follow you in my car.”
“What’s wrong? Don’t trust I’ll bring you back?”
She laughed confidently. “I don’t trust this parking lot with my car.”
I looked around. True. The place was a little seedy, but I’d seen worse. I doubted she would get her tires slashed. Maybe a broken window and some things stolen.
“Okay. Well, I’m not going far. You okay with the motel just up there?” I asked, pointing. She might as well know what it was before I even began. I didn’t take hoes back to my place. Not a chance in hell. One-night stands were motel material. I didn’t mind shelling out the cash. In the grand scheme of things, it helped women be less clingy.
The motel was one of those seedy places men with beer guts went to bang other men's wives, making promises they couldn't afford to keep. Or else the hookers brought their johns there and paid for rooms by the hour. Weeds grew through the cracks in the concrete path and the litter from cheap take-out meals was strewn across it. There were external, wooden stairs that lead to a second floor: a second row of doors that looked like the building inspector was either bribed to pass it or drunk on the job.
