by Jc Emery
“I can’t,” I say a little louder and with more fear in my voice than I should have. I know I’m being a baby, but my tank top is so small and the men around us are so... manly. They’re adults, not stupid teenage boys that count their blessings if you let them get to second base. Well, most teenage boys do, just not the Forsaken ones.
A woman passes by fully naked with two beers in her hands. My eyes follow her naked body, half in disbelief and half in jealousy of her confidence, as she places the beers on a table in the corner of the room. She parts her legs and climbs up on the lap of a large man I don’t recognize. I turn away when she lifts herself up and, through the gap between her body and his, a dark hand sneaks out and rubs the flesh tucked between her butt cheeks, then sinks in between them. Her head falls backward as her hips jerk from the motion.
“Oh my God,” I say and elbow Tracie. I turn my attention back to the bar area across the main room and try to block that out.
It’s not working.
“What?”
“Some dude just shoved his finger in that woman’s butt.” My face is beet red, and the stifling heat gets to be too much. I unbutton my top and slip it off and choose to deal with the tiny tank I’m sporting that provides very little coverage—even less than what Tracie’s wearing.
“It happens,” she says casually and tugs me toward the bar. I nearly trip over a couple making out and another doing lines of something off a naked woman’s inner thighs. I can’t believe my dad hangs out here. I can’t believe I’m hanging out here. Knowing this shit goes down and seeing it firsthand are two totally different things.
“Since you’re the expert, why don’t you tell me where Jeremy is.” I don’t regret the words when they leave my mouth. No, I regret the curiosity and nervousness I feel in my heart. I shouldn’t want to know.
“Ah,” Tracie says with a smirk. “Birthday boy should be around here somewhere. Let’s grab a few beers, and then we can track him down.”
The bar is so crowded we can barely squeeze ourselves up to the counter. It’s not a true bar, because the club doesn’t take any money for the alcohol they dole out. Apparently it’s served up for favors—sexual if you’re a woman, and otherwise if you’re not—no exceptions. Aunt Ruby says they don’t keep tabs on who owes them what. They just kind of expect whoever shows up here to be available to them when they need or want it.
“Two beers,” Tracie says with a smile at the chick behind the bar who looks around for the fridge. She must be new. My eyes slide down to the other end where I see Chel serving up a drink to Squat. He leans over the bar, and she grabs ahold of the back of his head before shoving her tongue down his throat. I back off from the bar and cover myself from her view by the dude from the Oakland charter who has his back to me. The woman behind the bar nods and sets two beers down in front of us.
We each grab one of the cold bottles and turn around. I take a single step and slam into a hard chest. My nose presses into the dirty black leather vest that I know means I’m in trouble. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the Fort Bragg patch. Any other charter, any other club, and I’d be fine. But not this charter. Not one of my dad’s brothers. Please, no. I thought maybe I could get a solid half hour before getting busted.
As my eyes travel up the leather cut and up the man’s neck to his chin, I let out a heavy sigh. Ian.
“Unless I’m drunker than I think, you’re not legal.” His cool voice is soft as his brown eyes take in my attire.
“You gonna rat me out?” I ask, batting my eyes and flashing him my best sweet smile.
He just shakes his head and tosses an arm over my shoulder. He glances at Tracie and says, “Go party,” before turning back to me and leading me away from the bar.
When he doesn’t make a move to take away my beer, I take a small sip and try to convince myself that I like the taste of it. I’ve only ever really liked beer after I’ve had enough of it that I can’t really taste it anymore. Still, it’s my best friend right now since I know if I drink enough, it’ll calm my nerves. I take a large gulp and fight off the bitter aftertaste.
Ian’s always been good to me, but I know he has a dark side that puts people on edge. I try not to walk on eggshells around him, even knowing everything I know about him, but it’s hard. Forcing myself to see past his damage, I smile at the man who once felt very much like an older brother.
“Checking up on Baby Boy?” he asks.
I shrug my shoulders and decide to just be honest. “Yeah, but I’d also like to know where Daniel is.”
“Detroit is in the palace,” Ian says. “Not sure about Baby Boy.”
“You’re not going to tell me I’m too young to be here or that I don’t want to see this shit?” Honestly I’m a bit surprised he isn’t pulling some big-brother routine. With his arm that’s draped over my shoulders, I’m slightly turned to see Jeremy at the far wall where Ryan is standing with a brunette who can’t be much older than me. She’s wearing jeans and boots with a tight tank top.
I swear the chicks at this party created some kind of freaking dress code or something. The whores are either naked or almost there, and the old ladies look classy as ever next to their badass biker men. There’s no mistaking Ryan’s companion is Alex. Her dark brown hair is up in a casual bun with strands falling and swooping out in places. Her brown eyes that look so much like Ian’s and Ruby’s stay focused on Ryan. He isn’t doing much talking, or if he is, he’s talking slowly. He has all of her attention, and she has his. I almost didn’t recognize her at first—it’s been a few months—but I saw her at both Chief’s and Aaron’s funerals. Both of those days were hazy.
“Is it weird having your sister here?” I ask.
“No weirder than having you here,” he says. His voice sounds tight and uncomfortable. We close in on Ryan and Alex, but when we’re a few feet away, Alex makes eye contact with Ian and smiles. He gives her a casual head nod, but then we’ve suddenly taken a jerky turn toward the hallway. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked him that. It’s really none of my business, and it’s not like we’re close friends who share secrets or something.
“You want to know why I’m not trying to scare you out of here?”
In my experience, I’ve learned that if someone asks you a question that requires a simple yes or no, they are going to tell you the answer whether you want to hear it or not. So instead of fighting it, I just agree that I want to know why.
“You’re going to do what you want anyway,” he reasons. “And this way, at least you’ll be fully informed of what you’re getting yourself into.”
“And what do you think I’m getting myself into?” It’s been months since Ian and I have had really any conversation. It’s not like we’ve ever been really chatty with one another, but I know what he did for Holly. He talked her through that awful night. He heard Mindy’s screams. Even after, he’s been gentle with Holly. He talks softly to her, and he was patient when she clung to him weeks after it all happened. I’ve always liked Ian, but now I have a newfound respect for him.
I know the clubhouse well enough to know what awaits us beyond the doors that line the hallway. Most of the rooms belong to the brothers. It gives them a place to crash or have sex with the Lost Girls—and for some, their old ladies. At the end of the hall is the chapel. I’d go say hi to Nic since I know she’s holed up in there, but there’s no telling who else might be in there who’d be more likely to tell on me. Still, I’m tempted to go say hi anyway since Duke quarantined her due to her super-pregnant state.
They hold Church meetings in the chapel, where they formally discuss club business. It’s also the room where they’ll decide whether or not to vote in Nic and Holly. I’ve only been in there a few times, and truthfully I have little desire to be in there normally. It’s as sacred as any place can get to these men.
One door, though—one door isn’t sacred, nor is it a personal space. The palace is where the nastiest of the nasty shit goes down. And we’re headed right for the door.
“Trouble,” he says and lifts his arm from my shoulders then takes a step away. My nerves get the best of me, oxygen catching in my throat, unable to make its way down to my lungs, and my palms sweat. I bring the beer bottle to my lips and take another large gulp.
“He’s not good enough for you, Miss Priss,” he says with a blank stare at the wall beside my head. “Your dad doesn’t want this life for you. None of us do.” He leaves me at the door to hell and disappears into his room at the end of the hall.
I wish Tracie were here with me. Instead, she’s off somewhere, doing something—or apparently someone—and not by my side like I need her to be. Maybe this is what Ian is talking about. I don’t do things on my own. I finish my beer quickly and wrap my hand around the doorknob. If I wait any longer I won’t have the nerve to do it.
CHAPTER 11
December
16 months to Mancuso’s downfall
The knob twists easily under my direction. A heavy body bumps into me from behind and shoves me into the room before I’m ready. So much is happening around me and there’s so many people in here—almost all of whom are naked—that I can’t find a single familiar face.
I move deeper into the room, too curious for my own good. A Lost Girl whose name I don’t know hangs from one of the stripper poles. She twirls around effortlessly in front of the mirrored wall with nothing on but a G-string and a pair of bright red heels. At first glance, her body looks to be totally free of ink, but then I see it—one of the Forsaken symbols tattooed on her hip. It’s a smiling skull with the helmet of a Nordic warrior on top. I know some of the Lost Girls have them—these tattoos—but I don’t know how the club goes about deciding who gets tattooed and who doesn’t.
Across the room, also reflected in the mirrored wall, are two Forsaken—one I know and one I don’t—having their way with a naked woman. Bear has his mouth wrapped around her left breast while the man I don’t know has his fingers rhythmically moving between her parted legs. She jerks as her back bows up, and she reaches down to rub Bear through his jeans. I can’t turn away. It’s so intimate and yet out in the open. Nobody cares, though, and in a way, it sort of makes the act more beautiful. Nobody here is ashamed of seeking out and giving pleasure to another. It’s only me.
A firm hand cups my hip, causing me to jump in place. Familiar blond hair tickles at the side of my face as Daniel’s voice fills my ear. “Do you like what you see?”
I want to say no, that I’m horrified by what’s going on here. But I’m not. I’m fascinated.
“Yes,” I say breathily.
He presses against my backside in a move that both shocks and excites me. My hands shake at my sides, and the empty bottle in my hands falls to the floor. The clink catches Daniel’s attention, but his only move is to kick the bottle under a nearby chair. As he lifts his leg, his hard body presses into the bottom of my butt. It’s not his built thighs that catch my attention, nor is it his muscular lower legs. It’s his dick that surprises me. I don’t even like Daniel half as much as I like Jeremy—which is a lot—but he doesn’t scare me the way Jeremy does. Maybe it’s the beer or the casual nature of it. Maybe it’s the place we’re in or the fact that I’m not looking at him. I count my blessings that we’re at the wrong angle to see anything in that stupid mirror. It just makes everything so visible in here. I can see people and things I wish I couldn’t. So instead of focusing on all the bullshit around me, I let myself drift into this and enjoy what Daniel might have to offer.
Right now I’d be okay with seeing where this goes because I don’t worry what he’s going to think of me tomorrow or if my dad is going to approve of us. Not sex exactly, but a little fooling around and maybe third base. There won’t be an us, and I’m not pairing my first name with his last in my head, getting attached to a future that is sure to fail because he’s Forsaken and relationships don’t start like this. Well, unless you’re Nic and Duke, but those two are screwed up and do everything backward anyway.
“I’ll go slow. I’m going to make you feel good, baby,” Daniel says. His voice sounds slick, like he’s selling me a car or forcing me to listen to his pyramid scheme. At some point, I thought he sounded charming. But not now. Now he’s not the guy who flirts with me and pushes my buttons. No, he’s the man who wants to take my virginity. It’s not something I’m ready to give up, and that’s frustrating the hell out of me because I feel like a damn child.
His hands slide up and down my sides, up to just beneath my breasts where he drags a finger along the lower line of my bra, then back down to the top of my jean shorts. His warm breath covers my neck as his lips softly trail from my collarbone up to my jaw. I let my eyes close and just enjoy the moment. They briefly flutter open long enough to see Tracie and Diesel pass by. Diesel’s gaze catches mine just before my eyes close. His angry stare bounces off my dueling desires—to let loose and to be smart—and I find myself suddenly insecure. Diesel’s basically been my babysitter the last few months. He’s either taken me to school or has let me follow him in my Bug, but he screwed my best friend, so I’m not sure he can really serve as some kind of moral compass.
Soon the image of his disapproving glare fades from memory, and it’s just me with Daniel’s lips on my neck, his hands traveling the curves of my body. His hands slip under the legs of my shorts a few inches before circling most of my thigh and then dragging down a little lower on my leg. He’s careful not to touch me any place too private, which helps keep this being okay in such a public place.
“Happy birthday, big boy!” Chel’s voice rings loud in my ears. My eyes snap open and immediately search my surroundings before landing on her barely clothed frame. Her dyed red hair is down in waves, and her makeup is heavy, which I assume is typical on a night like tonight. She’s slowly swinging her body in sultry dance moves with her eyes focused on something in front of her.
The crowd slowly parts as Fish brings a folding chair through the throngs of people. He sets it down in the center of the room, and it’s only then that I see Jeremy. The back of his cut stares me down, judging me for letting Daniel touch me in ways I wouldn’t let him. I want Jeremy to turn around and see me, to stop Daniel, and to tell me how sorry he is for pushing me when I wasn’t ready. I want his arms around me. I want his lips on mine, marking me, claiming me as his. I want him to turn to his right and to see me in the mirror. Just a few degrees and he’d know I was behind him.
But he doesn’t turn around. His shoulders roll as he claps his hands together and shouts, “Hell yes, baby!”
Not even Jeremy’s booming voice breaks Daniel’s concentration. His mouth moves up to my ear, where he sucks gently on my pliant flesh. One of his hands gently rubs my right breast as he bucks his hips into my ass. I give him a small moan that I’m unable to contain. It only serves to encourage and hasten his movements. His hand roughly pinches and twists my breast as he moans into my neck. I wince, but not at the pain. It hurts, sure. But it’s Jeremy being pushed into the folding chair and his pulling Chel into his lap that causes the flash of pain in my chest. He doesn’t care about me.
I’m an idiot.
Chel strips her tank top off and then her bra. She presses her breasts together and shoves them in his face. Greedily, he grabs hold of them and sucks them into his mouth.
“Enough of that,” Duke says as he moves to Chel and taps her shoulder. She nods and taps Jeremy’s nose so he lets go. “You can finish her off later if you want. Right now I got something to say.”
Duke commands the attention of the room with ease. Even the man next to Bear removes his hand from between the naked woman’s legs and looks to Duke. Only Daniel ignores him.
“Butch Whelan is a hell of a man and an even better brother,” Duke says. Jeremy jumps up from his chair and gives Duke a hug, obviously knowing something I don’t. From the angle he’s standing, I can see the blinding grin on his face through the mirror. His eyes sparkle that beautiful dark blue with excitement.
“What the fuc
k, prospect?” Ryan shouts from someplace I can’t see.
“Suck his dick, prospect!” my dad shouts. My dad. My freaking father is in here. I knew he was in the clubhouse, but I didn’t expect for him to be in here. But he is. I don’t know why I’m surprised. This is some kind of birthday deal for Jeremy.
My eyes travel around the room to see that they’re all here. Every single member of my dad’s club is here. Even Ian is by the door, watching from the back of the room. I guess because it’s a club party, and not only a prospect’s birthday but a member’s son’s birthday as well, that they kind of have to be here. If they’re all here, that means all their girlfriends and wives are here, too. Either that or they’re in the chapel. Party or no, Forsaken won’t leave their women totally unprotected at a time like this.
My eyes nearly bug out of my head when I see Ruby and Holly sandwiched between Uncle Jim and Dad. The two women are chatting about something and barely paying attention to what’s going on around them. I have no clue how they can just pretend all this isn’t happening. I guess my theory about Aunt Ruby babysitting all the kids is bullshit.
“You got it?” Jeremy shouts excitedly. Duke confirms, and they do that manly hug thing where they practically chest bump and slap each other’s backs. When they break apart, Jeremy turns to the room and throws his arms in the air in victory. I tilt my head so I’m better hidden behind a couple in front of me. There’s a large enough crowd between us, but I don’t need him seeing me right this second.
“Butch gave me his blessing,” Duke shouts with a smile on his face. Oh, Butch’s blessing. That makes sense now. It’s a tradition the brothers take incredibly seriously. Nobody gives a shit if the chick is new, but if she’s a member’s kid, you ask for your brother’s blessing. Period. Not asking is a big deal. Duke could marry Nic, and they already have a kid on the way, but wanting to officially make her his old lady without asking her father first is bad news. A smile takes over my face. I don’t remember much about Butch, just that he always gave me gum even after Dad said I wasn’t responsible enough for it anymore. I’d always get it in my hair, or his hair, or in the couch. But Butch would always say that nobody gets to decide what you’re responsible enough to handle but you, and then he’d sneak me a piece. Despite how weird all of this is, I wish Butch could be here to see his son. He’d be proud of Jeremy. They all are.
