3. Mila
3
A little ways down the street, floodlights illuminate the tower over the Screaming Eagles compound where their logo is displayed proudly on the wall, declaring their claim on South Side for all to see. It might be scary to some people, but it actually makes me a little nostalgic for all the nights I slept with my window open in the summer, listening to the sound of motorcycle engines and seeing the shadows that light cast on my wall.
I walk fast even though most of the time this is a very safe neighborhood. Sure, the bikers can be rough and it made me nervous when we moved in, but nobody wants to get on the bad side of the Screaming Eagles right here in the heart of their territory. The attack by a rival club in the spring put a serious dent in my false sense of security, but I haven’t heard of any trouble since.
“Mila! Slow down and listen to me.” Meghan grabs onto my arm and yanks me to a halt. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
I pull my arm away. “What? Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet. You used to be the one begging me to go to one of their parties.”
“I know, but that was when I didn’t think we were actually going to do it. I don’t think I can go in. It’s easy for you. Nobody cares if a journalist goes to a biker party, but if I get caught in there and it goes on my record, what law firm would hire me?”
“Why would anything be on your record? It’s not against the law to go to a party.”
Outside the gate, several big bikers in leather vests with the Screaming Eagles logo are holding watch, checking everyone who tries to get in. One glances our way and says something to his friend who looks and then shrugs. The heavy thrum of rock music comes from inside, and people are laughing and talking so loud we can hear it out here. I’m drawn to it like there’s a magnet in my gut, pulling me right towards the club. I bounce in place, not wanting to leave, but she’s not wrong. If I were her, I might feel the same, and I don’t want to leave Meghan.
“Yo! Mila!” a voice shouts. It’s Scrapper. He claps one of the guards on the shoulder and jogs out of the gate in our direction. “What’s the hold up? Is this your friend?”
I’m not proud of the bolt of jealousy I feel when he looks at Meghan. She’s tiny, with big wide eyes and beautiful, delicate features. I’m painfully average. Not small and cute, but not tall enough to be an amazonian beauty, either. My hair is thick and long, but it’s a mousy blonde, and my eyes are more gray than blue.
“Scrapper, this is Meghan. Meghan, Scrapper. He’s one of the guys I told you about. The ones who invited us.”
Scrapper nods, and my heart does a little flip when he throws his arm over my shoulder instead of moving closer to her. “Nice to meetcha. You ladies coming in, or are you going to stand out here all night?”
Meghan takes one look at us and her eyebrows go up. She pulls her phone out of her purse. “Actually, I was just telling Mila that she has to go without me. I… um, I forgot about something important I have to do. You’ll look out for her, right, Scrapper?”
He runs his fingers through the ends of my hair, twisting them up a little in a way that makes me all melty. “Won’t let her out of my fucking sight.”
“Are you sure?” I really want to go in, but I’m a strong believer in the buddy system when it comes to parties.
“Absolutely. Look, there’s a car right around the corner.” She holds up her taxi app. “I’ll see you back at the apartment, okay? Text me later to check in.”
“I will,” I yell at her back as she hurries to find her ride.
Scrapper pulls me towards the club. “Her loss. Come on. Mack and Reaper are waiting. We were hoping you wouldn’t chicken out.”
One of the guys at the gate gives a little head nod as we walk up. “You need a hand with her, man?” He reaches into his sleeve and I hear a click before he tosses something at us.
“Shut the fuck up, Ripper.” Scrapper says with a laugh, snatching whatever it is out of the air and flipping it right back to him.
I gape as Ripper catches the metal claw prosthetic with his good hand and clicks it back onto his other arm.
He winks. “It’s for the best. Faith isn’t really into sharing.”
“Your old lady not at the party?”
Ripper shakes his head. “Nah. That’s why I took gate duty. She’s watching Damien so Eagle-eye can let loose with Miriam tonight. Her birthday and all.”
I’m only half paying attention, too distracted by finally getting my first real look inside the massive walled compound. The gate opens up into a center courtyard that I’ve seen glimpses of from the outside, but everything feels at least twice as big up close. There’s a workshop to the side, where they can work on their bikes, but the courtyard is dominated by the massive warehouse with the Screaming Eagles MC logo right in front of us. The compound takes up a full city block, and there are bits of road remaining, and closely built houses that look like they’re from about the same time as the rest of South Side. The bikers have made plenty of changes, though. It’s like an independent town inside the city.
People are everywhere, mostly bikers, with beer in their hands and women hanging off their arms. I feel downright overdressed compared to a lot of them. Last year I would have dared to show more skin, but even in the summer heat I can’t bring myself to show my leg, not yet. I’m not exactly embarrassed by my scars, but when they’re visible, I feel like everyone is looking, and even the brush of air against the fresh skin is too much. Instead, I settled on bootcut jeans that hug my waist and thighs without pressing on my calf, and a sleeveless crop top with a ripped v-neck that shows off some belly and cleavage.
Most of the other girls are wearing booty shorts or micro miniskirts. They might as well be in bikinis while they dance and cling to the guys, clearly not caring that everyone can tell they are here for a good time. The front of the clubhouse is one step away from being an open air orgy.
I plaster myself to Scrapper’s side. Maybe I should have gone home with Meghan after all. A big hand falls on my shoulder, making me jump.
“Hey, beautiful.” It's Mack, grinning at me through his rich beard. “Reaper fucking owes us. I told him she’d show.” He's wearing his club vest this time, with a white tank underneath, and… wow. No wonder his T-shirt was struggling. Those biceps aren't pythons, they're anacondas.
I am so far out of my league here, but I’ve never let that stop me before. I lick my lips and swallow. “Were you guys betting on if I’d come or not?”
“Sweetheart, bet or no bet, if you’re here? You’ll definitely come,” Scrapper whispers into my ear.
The gasp I let out is less than dignified, but I don’t have time to be embarrassed because Scrapper distracts me by pulling off his t-shirt and tucking it into the waist of his jeans. He’s less bulky than Mack, but nobody could possibly mistake him for being weak. And…
I blink. “Your nipples.”
His smile widens. “You like? I’ll let you play with mine if you let me play with yours.”
Both of his nipples have small silver rings hanging from them. I’ve never seen pierced nipples before in person, and now all I want to do is reach out and flick one to see what happens. I have to drag my eyes up over the hard planes of his pecs to find his blue-green eyes twinkling. I went to Mexico for a long weekend once, and they're the exact same color as the water was. I could drown in those.
“Um…”
Mack laughs. “Don’t fucking scare her off before we even get her inside.”
“You’re not scared, are you, baby?”
“No! Of course not. Well…” I hold up my hand with my fingers a tiny bit apart. “Maybe just a little.”
Mack puts his hand on the small of my back, his calloused fingers hot against my bare skin. “C'mon. Let’s go find Reaper. Inside is where the real party happens.”
I glance around as we head up the metal stairs that lead into the clubhouse. Off to the side a woman is straddling a guy’s lap. His tongue is down her throat, and there’s another guy behind her, sliding his hands up her shirt. “This isn't the real party?”
Scrapper and Mack just laugh. “Fuck, you ain’t seen nothin' yet.”