Chapter 12—Milly
“H ow’s married life?”
My eyes go wide at the words, and I look sharply to my left to see a woman smirking down at me as I sit at one of the tables in the clubhouse. She’s got an aura about her that says “don’t piss me off,” but it just makes me miss home. If biker chick were a clothing style, she’d be the face of the campaign. She’s decked out in leather, from her skintight pants to the wide belt over her tube top. Even her headband is leathered, pushing back her massive long locks that are tied mostly in small braids. I have half a mind to tell her to go full dreadlock, but the shiny sporadic-braid look works for her, especially as her black hair has highlights of red that fade to pink. Her makeup isn’t caked on, despite her eyes having more black liner on them than the usual girl.
I don’t see her as a club girl, or a vamp, as I’ve been told they’re called around here. For one thing, she has a lot of clothes on. While revealing, she’s covered all her bits, which is apparently optional for the vamps on certain nights, like tonight. Thursday is apparently the night of the hookers, not too far from the Night of the Living Dead , if we’re going by the moaning and groaning. Not that sex is happening on the table, but the couple next to me is getting close to it.
I lift my ring finger, flipping her off with the wrong one, as I look back at the pool game I was watching. “No ring means it doesn’t mean a thing. ”
Her cackle of laughter has my lips twitching as she takes the seat next to me. I’ve been here for about an hour now, and no one has come up to me. Gotten a few looks, but nothing I can’t handle. I’m used to it, and sometimes I revel in the attention. Right now, I just don’t give a fuck. It’s been a long-ass week, and I’m still reeling from everything.
Like the fact that no one has tried to attack us in the last several days. Or that I’m getting a decent night’s sleep on the couch. I haven’t gone native or some shit. I still sleep with a knife in my hand. If Bass and the club trusted me a bit more, I would sleep with a gun. But while we’ve fallen into a routine, trust is not there yet. Though my gut is telling me that if I let him and the club in, I won’t regret it.
And the girl between my legs is begging me to let him in, in more places than one.
That’s the one that’s making this twice as hard for me to really let my guard down. Not sure if I’d be sleeping with the enemy or sleeping and the enemy attacks. Neither is an option I can afford.
Living with someone who isn’t a friend or family before you move in is… different. Probably would be a lot worse if we didn’t both have the same goal: to coexist. Neither of us expects this to be long term, which also helps. Bass told me on the first day that this was only for a week until Law found something more permanent. Granted, I don’t even know if we’re staying.
Ollie wants us to. The last few days have been some of the best he’s had in a long time. I don’t fault him for that. I can only do so much for him to keep him safe and happy. It’s harder than you might think. Having a friend who he spends most of his day with—be it in person or through the secure online gaming system Bass and Gator set up for him and Teddy—has really helped him get out of the cloud he pretends isn’t always hanging around him.
Even if we get back on the road and he keeps to the online gaming, it won’t be enough for my little guy. He’s tasted what life is like off the road, and he likes it. I can’t blame him. I had a life before all this too. I know what the good times can look like. I’ve had the cravings before, but I know going back to the life I had isn’t an option if I want to keep Ollie safe. Going home is a pipe dream. When the time comes to plant permanent roots, Brooklyn will never be that place, even if it kills a part of me.
Thinking about never going home makes me feel extra bitchy. And lucky for me, someone is dumb enough to be close to me. They obviously didn’t get the memo, like the rest of this place, that I’m to be treated like an animal at the zoo: look, but don’t touch.
Every time we come to the club, it’s like this. Ollie runs off with Teddy, Bass does his shit, and I’m left alone. Not that I need anyone, but it’s hard to find the weaknesses of this place when no one talks to you.
Sure, I could talk to them, that whole two-way street thing, but… fuck ’em.
“Who said you could sit here?”
I’ll give it to the girl; she doesn’t even flinch at the death tone in my words as she grabs the bottle of whiskey. Another thing that’s been a regular around here—the waitstaff sucks. So I just grab what I want from behind the bar and take my seat. If they’ve got a problem with it, no one’s said anything. Of course, tonight is the only night I grabbed alcohol. Not that I’ve taken more than two sips from the glass I filled, but I knew as soon as we dropped Ollie off at Maddy’s house and came here that I was going to need it.
The place reeked of sex before we even walked in, and thank God my kid isn’t around to see this. I’ve seen a lot. My home life was awesome, but I wasn’t a sheltered nun. Been around the block, seen some things, but not everything. And let me tell you, some of these girls are putting everything on the table tonight. Not sure if it’s pussy initiation night or what, but they all seem to be competing for some kind of trophy—in dick form.
“Same person who said I could drink your whiskey.” I glance at her as she smiles wide and takes a swig directly from the bottle. “Daddy dearest.”
I roll my eyes as I go back to watching the game. It’s not overly interesting, but the Yankees have another day off, so watching TV seems boring. And while I’m not a prude, straight up staring at someone getting fucked is a bit friendlier than I want to become with any of these vamps.
“And does Daddy still tuck you in?” There was a glint in her eye when she brought up her dad that made me think we were talking about two different potatoes.
“Not since my Barbies started their own club and boys weren’t allowed in my room.” She looks over at me and passes me the bottle. It’s a peace offering and a warning all in one. This girl will be friendly, but she has an in with the club that no one else does.
“Ahhh, so you’re the princess.”
“Yup. But don’t tell Bulldog’s kid that. She took on the club name Princess as soon as she could talk and won’t let anyone call anyone else that. She’s young but feisty, and her dad is teaching her how to throw a mean left hook. ”
Her smile has my lips twitching. Got a kid of my own like that, so I can appreciate a dad teaching his daughter early. You never know when you’ll be up against the wall and the only way out is to start swinging.
“So, what do they call you?”
“Ruby, and yeah, it means I’m a precious stone or some shit. Don’t start. Mom was amazing but still wanted a name that made me stand out a bit in the club. And you’re the Yankee.” She looks at me with a raised eyebrow, challenging me to deny her knowledge. But I can’t help that she’s wrong.
“Brooklyn.”
“There a difference?”
“Only if you know anything,” I say, chancing my luck that the girl doesn’t have a disease and drinking from the same bottle, forgoing the glass on the table. Might seem weird, but where I’m from, if a person offers you a drink, you take it from what was handed to you. Anything else is an insult. Something tells me this Ruby girl was raised the same way.
She snorts before nodding. “Hard to deny to the boys that you aren’t making trouble.”
“Kidnapped people rarely play nice.”
“Oh please, you weren’t kidnapped. Club stepped in and offered to help.” She holds up a hand before I can protest what she considers helping. “Admittedly, they’re men and have a fucked-up meaning of the word, but help really is their main objective, especially when a kid’s involved. Besides, kidnapped people don’t get to come out to play and drink expensive whiskey.”
“Says the daddy’s princess.”
She smiles. “Touché.”
The sounds of the club filter in around us as we sit in silence, watching everything and nothing all at once. The people I was introduced to at Wyatt’s birthday party aren’t around. I see a few of the guys who didn’t seem to have a plus-one that night hanging out, but none got close enough to me that day for me to put a name with the face unless I look at their club vest. Vamp night must also mean it’s family night out or some shit, since not one of the couple types is here.
Looking over at Ruby, I note the lack of a ring on her left hand like me. Not that I take her for the marrying type. She doesn’t scream white picket fence, but I doubt a club princess would. More like leather and oil. Begs the question of why she’s at the club, then. If she ain’t with a man, is she out searching for one?
“No.”
My eyebrows shoot up, as I know I voiced nothing.
“You have the same look that every other old lady gives me. Ain’t looking for a man, don’t need a man. And before you ask, yeah, I want one, just so I can hold him by the hair till I get off and make sure he cleans up after himself, but that’s about it.”
“So, why you here on a Thursday night?”
She shrugs. “Dad bribes me with breakfast at the bakery every Friday morning before my classes. It has the best damn donuts this side of the country, even if the asshole who owns it is a cranky old bastard.”
I laugh at that. “Sounds like my kind of people.”
Don’t know why, but a person who can piss off this chick is someone who would probably remind me of home. I instantly like them, even if I’ve never met them. And something about cranky bakers just makes me smile. When I get really homesick, I watch Gordan Ramsay ream someone out over a dish. What can I say? My family is dysfunctional. We use insults like most people say “I love you.” It’s just something we do, and I miss it.
Thoughts of that are half the reason I open my mouth again. “Bitch.”
Without missing a beat, Ruby responds, “Cunt.”
I turn to face her, and she does the same. “Redneck.”
“Yank.”
“Cum dispenser.”
“Oxygen killer.”
“I bet your IQ is room temperature.”
“Bet you can’t even spell IQ.”
We’re grinning like a couple of schoolgirls as a shadow falls on the table, drawing our eyes.
“Oh God, don’t tell me you’re getting along,” the guy says with an eye roll as I read his vest: Kooper. I know he was there the night all this started, but I didn’t pay him half as much attention as others got then. He’s tan and built, but so are half the guys in this damn place. His stubble is tasteful, and the thought of what it would feel like between my thighs passes through my brain for a second before I see he’s only looking at Ruby and doesn’t spare me a glance. Interesting.
“Okay,” she says with a shrug.
I grin, because maybe I do like to cause more trouble than not. “We won’t tell you.”
“Fuck,” he says on a groan that has him leaning his head back in defeat. “Not another one.” He walks away, and we laugh as we see him head to the bar for another drink.
I take another drink and then pass the bottle back to Ruby. When she takes it in hand, she gets a tug back from me not releasing it.
She raises an eyebrow, and I match it, adding a tilt of my head to it.
She shakes her head and gives one last tug for me to let go of the bottle before she takes another long drink.
“Don’t you start. You’re as bad as the other old ladies. No, before you ask, Koop and I ain’t a thing. Never were, never will be. He’s the annoying stepbrother who thinks he owns me and can tell me what to do. Nothing more.”
“Stepbrother romance books are making a huge comeback.”
She spews her drink clear across the table, some landing on the couple that’s full-on fucking. Well, they were till they got sprayed with spit-up whiskey. Apparently, that’s something they find disgusting, since they look at us like we have two heads as they get up and walk out.
If I knew that would stop them, I would have spit in their direction a long time ago.
“Oh God, I don’t have enough alcohol or time to deal with you tonight,” Ruby says as she wipes the dribble off her chin with the back of her hand. But she isn’t getting up, so I take that as a good thing.
I grab the whiskey and take a long pull before passing it back to her. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. I’m the kidnapping victim, remember? Got nothing but time.”