ELEVEN
Bash
Leaving the Diablos grounds for a night out was rare for the boys.
They did most of their drinking in the clubhouse, where they could play the music as loud as they wanted, and any fighting that might spring up wasn’t with someone who would pull a switchblade. Some civilians with only half a brain saw the club cuts and took it as a red flag to cause issues. The last Diablos night out was a wild business meet-up with the Apollo Kingsmen. Drinks were flowing, handshakes were happening, and then some drunk hick swung a chair at Diamond.
Of all the bikers to challenge, the fool chose the biggest.
Bash got a split eyebrow and busted knuckles that night, because you never abandon your friends in a fight.
They were at Chains’ Den. The strip joint he’d revamped into a money-making machine. It’s not just for creeps anymore. His wife was an accountant, and one of her sisters was a party planner. When those two began relentlessly discussing the revenue Chains was losing, the establishment shifted to hosting exclusive women-only parties every other Saturday, generating more profit in that single weekend than the entire month combined.
Bash was uninterested in watching a woman shake her goodies, so he didn’t bother looking at the stage.
Now, if his woman was up there.
Nah, scratch that. If Charlotte was partially dressed and other men were checking her out with the same inappropriate thoughts he had, he would go ballistic.
He’d start wars. And break necks.
Fortunately, she was a good girl nurse.
One day she’d do a striptease, but only for his nasty eyes to feast on.
There wasn’t much else to do but drink his beer and think about a woman he wanted more than his next breath. He listened to the conversation while Axel said something that made Amos from the Kingsmen laugh.
Little did Bash know, his good girl nurse was very near.