Cowboy Chapter 4 #2
I glanced over my shoulder to find he wasn’t alone. Spook and Wraith were with him. This strip club I’d found out belonged to the Las Vegas chapter of the Bastards. No way would any of the Graven Bastards want trouble in here.
“Everything is fine,” I told him.
Saranya’s body became rigid. Fearfulness showed for a split second on her face before she disguised it with a nonchalant look.
Despite myself, she made me respect her.
She was faced with four large, scary bikers, yet she didn’t show more than a flicker of unease.
Wraith’s gaze flicked to her, then back to me.
“Why don’t you bring your friend back to the booths so everyone can meet her? Or if you want, we can find you a private room in the back,” he said, smirking.
“I’m not going anywhere with him. I was trying to get back to my date. If you’ll excuse me,” she stated. A tremor ran through her.
I wasn’t a man who got off on terrorizing women. In fact, I hated those who did. I wasn’t sure if Wraith and the others were being friendly and supportive in case I wanted to hook up with Saranya, or if they were looking to have fun with her after I did. The latter I wouldn’t allow.
“I’ll meet you guys back at the booth after I walk her to her table. You can never be too careful.”
It was stupid to put a threat in my tone, but I did. I would place myself between her and the entire two chapters of the Bastards if I had to. Death would be certain, but I would still do it.
“Hey, sure thing. Just wanted to help you out. See you in a couple,” Wraith said, as he smiled, then walked past me with the other two trailing him. They went past the bathrooms. Once they were gone, Saranya ripped herself free of my grip.
“I’m going back to War. Don’t you dare touch or follow me. If you do, I’ll scream rape and call the cops.”
“I’m not trying to harm you. I need to speak to you.”
“And as I said, we have nothing to say to each other. The rodeo is over tomorrow. You and I will never see each other again, Cowboy. There’s no reason to talk.
I know what you think, and regardless of what I say, you’ll believe what you want to believe.
So be it. Goodbye.” As her last word spilled from her mouth, she darted around me and was off, half running toward the central part of the club.
It took everything in me not to chase her.
Instead, I stood there, breathing deeply for a couple of minutes.
When more time passed and War hadn’t made an appearance to beat the hell out of me, I headed back into the main area.
My eyes were drawn to her table. A table that sat empty.
Scanning the dark room, I saw that she and War were gone.
It was with reluctance that I returned to the Bastards.
???
Only half an hour to go before my flight back to St. Augustine, Florida, would be complete.
I’d fulfilled my obligation at the National Finals.
I presented the new World Champion Bull Rider with his custom championship belt buckle and his substantial check.
The rodeo’s sponsors and organizers always liked it when a former world champion presented the newest one with his prizes.
I’d been asked several times, but this was my first time saying yes.
While I enjoyed being around the rodeo again, presenting wasn’t something I planned to do often, if ever again.
I’d posed for the obligatory photos, shook hands, and went to the celebratory dinner, which lasted until late.
This morning, when I got up, I packed my shit and headed to the airport.
I forced myself to stay away from the barn and the area where the trailers were parked.
I didn’t trust myself near Saranya. As much as I hated the way she made me feel and think, I loved it, too.
There was something about her that drew me. It was best that I stayed away.
After she and War left the Scarlet Siren Friday night, I ended up explaining what I was doing lurking outside the ladies’ bathroom and exactly who she was after Wraith outed me.
The Bastards offered to have Xenon, their tech, check her out for me, but I declined, explaining I would do it myself.
They had backed off. We’d spent a couple more hours at the Siren before I called it a night.
I had to admit the evening had left me more curious about the Graven Bastards.
They had an awareness about them that most bikers developed, especially if they had enemies.
However, their perception seemed to go far beyond that.
There was something different about them that I couldn’t put my finger on.
Despite that, I left believing I’d gained the beginnings of a friendship.
You never knew when a relationship like that would come in handy.
Thankfully, on the return flight, the plane was quiet, without any bratty kids or their non-parenting parents.
I watched a movie, then dozed on and off for the remainder of the time.
I knew when I got home, I’d have to stop in at the clubhouse and check in with my club brothers and spend some time there before escaping to my house.
I was thrilled that I’d chosen to build a house on the compound earlier this year.
It was started right after Swerve and Electra settled their business and began building theirs.
It didn’t take long to have them built. When your club owned and operated a prep and restoration business, Wrath’s Prep & Restore, that primarily worked on hurricane preparedness or repairs for homes and businesses, you had all the people with the right skills to do it.
They often ended up rebuilding entire structures.
And when it came to doing work for a brother, they didn’t wait around.
While my room in the clubhouse had been fine for several years, it had lost its appeal.
I longed to be able to get away from the partying and frequent interruptions.
On the main party nights, people were up and down the halls, laughing and sometimes screaming.
Then there were the sounds of sex, loud music, and someone pounding on your door.
It was damn nice to go home to peace when you weren’t in the mood or were done partying.
I was longing to do that as soon as I could break away.
Walking out of the airport into the Florida sun, I smiled when I caught sight of the bikes and a couple of my club brothers sitting in the pickup and drop-off zone.
Among them was my ride. No way would I leave my baby in airport parking.
I’d been dropped off by our newest brother, Judge.
Before last month, he’d been our prospect, Darian, for almost two years.
We’d patched him in a month early due to all of us agreeing he’d more than earned his patch.
The only downside was that we were still looking for one or two prospects. Currently, we have only one, Boden. He’d been with us for fifteen months. There had been one guy we tried out in the summer, but he hadn’t lasted a month before we sent him on his way. Good prospects were hard to find.
Standing by the bikes were Judge, Toretto, and Punk.
I made my way over to them. One of the no-parking rent-a-cops eyed them, but stayed far away.
I’d like to see him run off my brothers.
When I reached them, I was greeted with handshakes and backslaps.
I wasted no time putting my rucksack into one of the saddlebags on my blacked-out Road King Special Harley.
I’d gotten it brand new last year, and I loved it.
“Good to see ya, brother. Let’s get your ass home so you can tell us about your trip,” Punk said.
“Sounds good to me. Who brought my bike?” I asked.
“Boden, but he almost had a heart attack,” Toretto said.
“Why was that?” I asked as I checked my baby over for scratches or dents. If I found one, Boden’s ass would be beaten.
“Because we warned him the whole time you were gone that he had to ride it here, and if you found even a speck of dirt on it, his ass was grass,” Punk explained, chuckling.
“Where is he?”
“He had a friend pick him up. I think he’ll be drunk by the time we get home. He’s dreading you finding something, but I checked her over, and she’s pristine as ever,” Judge answered.
“Looking good, but don’t tell him that. I wanna see what he does when I come strolling in.” I smirked.
There were chuckles, then we got ourselves situated and on the road.
The ride wasn’t long, which sucked, but I still enjoyed it.
Our compound was located off County Road 214, in the woods of the Cowan Swamp, outside the city limits.
When we pulled through the gate that gave us access through the chain-link fencing topped with concertina wire, also known as razor wire, I felt a sense of relief.
The fencing formed the perimeter of our property.
It had anti-climb mesh and fence extension poles to prevent anyone from scaling it.
With all that together, the fencing came to nearly twelve feet tall.
The gate was a reinforced steel sliding gate made of steel bars. They reminded me of jail cell bars.
My body unwound more as I took in the sight of home. I’d made this place my home these past six years. We parked outside the clubhouse beside other bikes. I’d ride mine to my house later.
Upon entering the clubhouse behind Punk, I smiled when I saw that it appeared that all of my brothers were here. And they weren’t the only ones. The old ladies were there along with the kids. The presence of all of them on a weekend day wasn’t unusual.