Chapter 7
Skye
I t’s safe to say I’m still not over my crush on Angel, Drifter, Buzz, and Gunner. In fact, in the three weeks I’ve been working at the Angels of Havoc clubhouse it’s only become more intense. Since that first time together, Angel has been true to his word and we haven’t had sex again, in fact, all four of the men seem to do their best to avoid me if possible. When that isn’t possible there’s a palpable sexual tension between us all, I know I’m not imagining things.
I feel like since having sex with Angel, something inside me has ignited, some wild, animalistic side of me that wants to explore all of my carnal desires, and I want these men. I just need them to see me as a woman, not as Tommy Gun’s kid they held as a baby, or the meek little virgin everyone in my family sees me as.
Tonight’s shift has been a busy one with Tammy and I racing around serving the members and a batch of new prospects who want to join the club. It seems that proving you can drink enough liquor to kill an elephant is a large part of displaying your credentials. Most of the members know that Tammy and I are off-limits, Tammy as the old lady of one of the members, Viper, and me as the daughter of an ex-member. But the new prospects either don’t know or they have no idea what breaking those rules means for them. A bit of flirtation is allowed to slide, but as the night wears on and they become more inebriated, both Tammy and I are on edge.
“Hey baby, why don’t you come and join us this side of the bar,” a prospect of about twenty-five slurs pointing to his friends and the group of half-naked women gyrating on them. “I bet you’d look even sexier with those massive tits swaying in the breeze,” he belches drunkenly.
“Thanks but no thanks,” I snipe back sarcastically, unceremoniously dumping the pitcher of beer he ordered onto the bar so some spills out.
“Suit yourself,” he mutters, before stumbling back to his buddies.
I glance over to where Angel, Drifter, Gunner, and Buzz are sitting in their usual booth. As usual, a few club bunnies are hovering around them, preening and sticking their boobs out to try to catch their attention. I feel a flash of irritation when I notice one of them boldly sits on Angel’s lap, throwing her skinny arms around his neck. Angel promptly removes her without even looking at her, untangling her limbs and dumping her unceremoniously on the floor. She looks wounded but bravely laughs it off as though nothing happened. I can’t help myself from smiling and feeling smug. Gunner, ever the observant one, catches my eye and I blush, quickly turning away.
“Hell of a night tonight huh Tam?” I say to Tammy, trying to ignore the four pairs of eyes I can feel boring into the back of my head.
I don’t want them to see me as like all the other girls here, desperately pining after them like a lovesick puppy that keeps coming back even when you kick it.
“You can say that again,” she replies with a chuckle as she deftly maneuvers out of the grasp of the wandering hands of a drunk prospect while she collects empties on the other side of the bar. “It seems that we’re not the only ones being harassed at least,” she adds with a giggle, nodding her head toward the girls fawning over Angel and the others. The girl who was on Angel’s lap a moment ago is now trying her luck with Buzz, he tolerates it for slightly longer but still removes her.
“Who is she?” I ask Tammy curiously.
“Just some club bunny, that got a taste of all four of our boys at once, now she’s like a dick junkie, hungry for more. Her name’s Veronica.”
“Wait, she had sex with all four of them at the same time?” I ask, surprised.
I know I’ve fantasized about it, more than once, but to hear it’s something they actually do is unexpected. I know they’re close, but I never imagined that guys would want to share one woman and not get jealous. Just hearing that has my imagination going into overdrive.
The door to the club opens, distracting me from my fantasy, and we both glance over automatically to see who it is.
“Fresh meat,” Tammy notes as four young men walk into the bar.
They definitely don’t belong here. They look like preppy varsity jocks, not prospects or members. It happens occasionally, college students come in thinking they can get served without ID, or tough guys thinking they’re cool come to try to take part in the debauchery. Usually they don’t get past the gate, but those who do are shown the door pretty quick, as the clubhouse is strictly members only. to grasp.
They wave at the prospect who was just talking to me, so I assume that’s why they’re here. Some idiot prospect thinks this is a frat party, not a badass motorcycle club and has invited his buddies. As the four newcomers approach a booth confidently, all eyes are on them. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife, with members ready to step in at the slightest infraction—guests are tolerated, but barely so. They seem oblivious to this though, gawping around them, especially at the women, like they’re at Disneyworld.
“What can I get for you fellas?” I ask, going over to take their order and trying to force a smile while preparing myself for anything.
“Don’t I know you?” one of them says.
He looks vaguely familiar, but he has such a generic, boy next door face, it’s hard to tell. He looks like any number of the preppy guys that Ethan hangs out with. I tend to try to avoid and ignore Ethan’s friends whenever they come over.
“Nope, don’t think so,” I reply, hoping it’s just some shitty pickup line and he doesn’t somehow know me.
“No, I do…” he says, thinking as he tries to place my face.
If he’s met me outside of here there’s a chance he won’t put the pieces together, I look so different when I work here.
“That’s it!” he says snapping his fingers, “You’re Ethan’s sister!”
Shit.
This is not good. If he tells Ethan about me working here, Ethan will run straight to his dad to tell him and then I’ll be in huge trouble. Bill and Mom will definitely forbid me from working here.
“Nope, you must be mistaken,” I reply, my voice shaking as I try to act cool.
“No it’s definitely you. Blake, you’ve seen Ethan’s sister before, right? This is her!” the guy says, calling over one of his buddies.
“Oh shit yeah, it is. What the hell are you doing working here?” the guy, Blake, says with a shit-eating grin, eyeing me up like I’m a stripper.
“Ethan never told us you work here,” the first guy says.
“I bet he doesn’t know,” Blake accurately guesses when he sees my pained expression.
There’s no way I’m gonna be able to convince these guys I’m not Ethan’s sister. Even if I wasn’t they’re so convinced and likely to find it funny to tease Ethan with. If they do that, Ethan’s bound to tell Bill or at least look into it.
“Let’s keep it that way, shall we?” I say, trying my best to sound cute and flirty, “There’s a free round of shots and a pitcher of beer in it for you,” I purr.
“Oh, this information is worth way more than that, sweetheart,” the first guy replies confidently.
He’s right of course, Bill would no doubt pay a fortune to keep this information from getting out and ruining his campaign.
“How’s about you sweeten the deal? You make me and my boys happy tonight, and when I say happy, I mean really happy,” Blake says suggestively, making it clear he means sexual favors, “And if you’re a really good girl for us, then maybe we’ll consider keeping quiet,” he says, grabbing my ass and giving it a mean squeeze.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I hiss, slapping his hand away.
He grabs my wrist pulling it painfully as he yanks me toward him, “But I want your pretty little mouth around my cock,” he says with a laugh as he tries to pull my head down to his crotch.
I pull away, but his hand is wrapped around my wrist like a vise. Quick as a flash and before I even fully register what’s going on, Blake’s head is slammed into the table, and he lets go of my hand. It’s then I realize that Drifter has come to my rescue, he’s normally the more jovial of the group but right now he seems murderous. I glance around wondering where Angel, Buzz, and Gunner are, usually if there’s trouble, all four of them handle it, but I can’t see them.
“What the fuck, I think you broke my nose!” Blake cries as he clutches his profusely bleeding nose.
“In this establishment, you keep your fucking hands to yourself unless given express permission, and I’m pretty sure the lady didn’t give you fucking permission,” he hisses his voice low and dangerous, his eyes like fire.
One of the other men gets up and attempts to throw a punch at Drifter but he’s sloppy and uncoordinated from drinking too much. Drifter easily dodges it, grabbing the man’s arm and pinning it behind his back, slamming him down against the table. The man yelps and squirms as Drifter painfully twists his arm back.
“Hey, man, my dad’s a lawyer and you bet your ass we’re gonna report you for assault,” another one of the guys pipes up arrogantly, trying to hide his cowardice.
Drifter fixes him with an unimpressed glare, “You think I give a shit kid? Now, you’ve got two choices. One, you can apologize to the lady, walk out that door, never come back, and write this off as a bad day, or two, I can single-handedly beat the living shit out of your pussy asses outside—which trust me I can do or my buddies would be only too happy to help. Sure, you can call the cops but if you piss me off and cause trouble for us, I can guarantee nothing will come of it and I’ll find you and make it a hell of a lot worse for you.”
It’s clear from his tone that Drifter isn’t joking around, and he’d be perfectly capable of putting all four guys in the hospital singlehandedly if that’s what it came down to.
“Fuck this, let’s go, it’s shit here anyway,” one says with false bravado.
They all mumble their assent and get up apart from the one that Drifter is still twisting the arm of.
“And the apology,” Drifter reminds them, his voice calm.
“Sorry,” they all mumble.
“That’s better,” Drifter says, releasing the one’s arm who rubs it, wincing in pain.
They all scramble to leave but Drifter blocks their path. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” At their blank faces, he nods toward me, “You need to tip your waitress.”
Clearly now realizing how dangerous a situation this could still become, they don’t argue, they simply thrust a handful of twenties toward me and make a break for it. As they hurry out of the door, tails between their legs, the members of the bar start to laugh and the atmosphere returns to normal.
I don’t. Drifter might have protected me from being groped and assaulted, but there’s no way those guys won’t tell Ethan now. Unless they’re too embarrassed about what happened. But guys like that want someone to blame, someone to pay for making them feel small and weak. That person is going to be me.
Drifter turns to me, the dangerous energy is now gone, and his face is full of concern, “You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m alright, thank you,” I reply though my hands are shaking.
“Here, sit down,” he says guiding me.
I don’t protest, allowing him to slide into a booth next to me.
“You didn’t have to do that, I had it covered,” I say, not wanting to come across as a damsel in distress.
He chuckles lightly, “Oh, I know that. You could definitely handle those assholes, but I didn’t like seeing that prick lay his hands on you.”
Again he gets that dangerous look in his eyes as he thinks about it.
“Right, because I’m Tommy Gun’s kid,” I say a little despondently.
He gently touches my chin, tilting my head to look into his eyes. They’re a deep blue-gray that makes me think of storm clouds, dangerous, yet beautiful and soulful.
“You’re so much more than just that,” he murmurs.
He’s looking at me in such a way that I think he’s about to kiss me, and I want him to. My mouth parts slightly and I tilt my head back a fraction, welcoming him.
“What happened?” Angel’s voice breaks the moment, and we jump away as though scalded.
He’s flanked by Gunner who seems serious and curious, and Buzz who appears mildly amused. Angel looks pissed off.
“Some assholes groped Skye, so I told them to fuck off,” Drifter says with a shrug.
“I was asking Skye,” Angel replies.
“Exactly that, just some assholes,” I reply, unable to meet his gaze.
“There’s more to it than that, tell me,” Angel orders.
I let out a sigh. “They knew my stepbrother and threatened to tell my stepdad. He’s a huge asshole and he won’t like me working here. If he finds out, he’ll try to make me quit, and I don’t want to.”
Angel nods, “We don’t want you to quit either, you’re a hard worker and everyone likes you.”
The others nod in agreement. I’m surprised to hear that, part of me figured Angel would sooner not have me around reminding him of his mistake in sleeping with me, which he clearly thinks it was.
“Look, why don’t you go home early, see if you can’t work something out with your family,” Angel adds.
I start to shake my head to disagree, but he stops me.
“Even if you decide not to speak with them, you’re evidently shaken after what happened. Go home, we can help Tammy close up.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that,” I reply before giving Drifter a small smile, “Thanks again for kicking those pricks out.”
“I’m sure we can find a way for you to show your appreciation,” he says flirtatiously, back to his usual self, earning him a warning glare from Angel and making me blush.
“Okay, well, bye!” I squeak before heading out.
I never know what to make of these guys, one minute they’re avoiding me like the plague, the next they’re rescuing me from pricks and flirting with me acting as though I’m special.
But I can’t let myself think about the guys right now, first I need to get home and try to do some damage control. Perhaps if I can get a hold of Ethan before he speaks to his dad I can come up with some sort of deal. The prick would love to have something he can lord over me. Or maybe if I speak to Mom, I can make her understand and get her onboard. She used to love it at the Angels of Havoc’s clubhouse once.
I climb into my old Toyota, a hand down of Ethan’s since he’s the only one who gets the brand-new expensive cars, and quickly throw on some jeans and a t-shirt over my revealing strapless top, shimmying out of the miniskirt I was wearing once my jeans are covering me before driving off. This is my nightly ritual when I finish work and the opposite when I arrive. The family is usually asleep when I get in, but I don’t want to run the risk of them seeing me in my club work attire, it would definitely give away that I’m not working in a normal bar. Similarly, I could hardly dress how I do around Bill and Mom at the club. So for the past three weeks, I’ve essentially been living a double life.
During the short drive, I pray that they’re all asleep and I’ll have enough time to come up with a plan, but when I pull up the driveway and see that all of the lights are on, I know I’m shit out of luck.
Mom, Bill, and Ethan are all sitting around the kitchen table when I enter, waiting for me. Mom looks as though she’s been crying, her eyes red and puffy. Bill is stony-faced and resolved. Ethan looks positively gleeful with a small, satisfied smirk on his lips and a triumphant gleam in his eyes.
I’m screwed.