4. Scrapper
4
Our little intruder is fucking cute. Wide eyed and bushy tailed, is that what they say? Probably not, but I’m eager to get a closer look at both her bush and her tail.
It’s hot as shit out, so yeah, I peeled off my shirt, but Mila’s reaction to my piercings was a nice bonus. She looks like she doesn’t know if she should play with them or run away.
Music blasts through the door when Mack opens it, followed by mostly cool air. The AC’s fighting to keep up with the heat of all the people jammed in here, but it’s not entirely winning.
“This way.” I keep one hand on her back, both wanting to reassure Mila, and to make it clear that she’s with me. With us.
There’s more than enough assholes here that’ll see a new pair of tits and be eager to show her a good time. Possession is nine tenths of the law, and I fully intend that asshole to be me.
The common room is packed. With more and more families inside the compound, the Roost took over as the primary party location, but until it reopens, this feels like old times. Chef and Badass are manning the bar while Jewel—Chef’s old lady—shoots the shit with one of the club sluts.
Mila slows down and I follow her gaze.
There’s a topless chick dancing between two of our brothers, grinding her ass against the one behind her and basically riding the leg of the guy in front. On a couch in the way back, I can’t see who it is, but someone’s getting sucked off by two chicks at a time. And they’re both getting fucked from behind. And a few feet away, people are playing pool like nothing’s going on.
Bet that’s making an impression on a sheltered college student.
“Holy crap,” Mila whispers.
Mack grins. “Like what you see?”
She shakes her head, not like she’s denying it, but like she can’t quite believe it. “It’s definitely something.”
Mack laughs, just as Reaper makes his way through the crowd to join us.
“Damn, she showed.” He pulls out his wallet and makes a show of slapping a twenty in each of our hands.
“Disappointed?” Mila asks. I like that she’s out of her depth, but still rolling with the punches.
“Fuck no. Worth every penny.”
She cocks her head and smirks at him. “So what do I get?”
Reaper leans in, watching her like a hawk. “Baby, you get whatever you fucking want, but let’s start with a drink.”
We get her a beer and pull her into the crowd. It’s less of a dance floor and more of an open grinding pit. The heavy music is loud, slow and churning, and the lights turned down low enough to make it feel a little private. She gets a few looks, but trapped in the center of the three of us, Mila is as safe as it gets.
At least from everyone else. From us, though?
“Who’s that?” she asks, gesturing to a couple that stand out because everyone is giving them plenty of room.
“That’s our president Eagle-eye and his old lady,” Mack answers with a nod in their direction.
Miriam’s arms are around Eagle Eye’s neck, and he’s leaning down, kissing her like the meaning of fucking life is in her throat somewhere. She’s wearing a tight leather skirt that comes almost down to her knees, and a flowy black top, with her dark hair loose around her shoulders. Even after the years they’ve been together, the look of being a politician’s wife clings to her, and it’s strange seeing her in her hot secretary outfit with a grizzled old biker like Prez. It proves that you never know just by looking at someone, because she gave him a fucking son less than a year ago, and loves every inch of that old bastard in spite of all the blood on his hands.
Mila doesn’t know any of us for shit, so I don’t expect her to understand, but I fucking love seeing it. Before I joined the Screaming Eagles, I checked out a few different clubs. Quite a few were nothing but a sorry excuse for a bunch of pissed off boys in men's bodies to cause trouble and not shower regularly, but when I walked through that gate outside it felt fucking right. Eagle-eye and King run this place like a fucking family. A fucked up family by most measurements, sure, but when I saw the way the blooded members treated each other and their women, it made me feel like if I gave them my loyalty, I’d never fucking regret it. And I haven’t.
“What do you think?” Reaper pulls Mila to him, swaying to the music. His hand slides across the bare strip of belly between her shirt and her jeans. “Is it what you expected?”
Her eyes go wide and she takes a nervous sip of beer. “I—I don’t know what I expected. Are all the guys here members?”
“Most of ‘em. Members, prospects when we let’em in, or guys who have someone to vouch for them. It looks laid back, but trust me, after the spring, our security’s tighter than a virgin,” Mack answers. He tugs her out of Reaper's arms and pulls her to him, chest to chest. She raises her arms and links them behind his head, the beer bottle grazing his neck.
“And the women?” she asks breathlessly, Mack’s hands sliding down to cup her ass.
I glance around, taking in the crowd. “Girlfriends, old ladies, some who are just curious and looking for a good time like you, and the sluts.”
Mila winces when I say slut. “Those are like, your groupies or something, right? It sounds so… demeaning.”
“Yo! Indie!” Reaper shouts over the music.
A pretty redhead, who’s been around for the last year or so wanders over. She’s wearing nothing but a t-shirt and boots. I’m sure if I ask if she’s wearing anything under there, she’d be more than happy to prove the answer’s no.
Indie licks her lips and slides up next to Reaper. She runs her hand up his chest and looks at Mila curiously. “You boys looking for company? Or if you want to watch, I’d be happy to get to know your girl,” she purrs. “She’s cute.”
“Nah, that wasn’t what I…” Reaper considers it for a moment and looks at Mila. “Unless you want?—”
Mila’s face flushes and she shakes her head. “No! No offense, Indie.”
Indie shrugs. “So what’s up?”
“You mind being called a slut?” I ask.
She leaves Reaper’s side and comes to me. She twirls slowly to the music, showing off the moves she’s gained working the stage at the Roost. “Depends on who’s saying it. You boys? It’s tradition. I earned it. This club is home. It’s like me and my friends calling each other bitches. We can do it, but anyone else?” She grins and there’s something sharp and eager in her eyes. “I’ll make them eat their own fucking balls. So if you’re taking a fucking gender studies class or some shit, don’t worry about us. We know what and who we’re doing. Trust me, they’re worth it.”
Indie blows Mila a kiss and slips back into the crowd. It doesn’t take long before one of the brothers notices she’s free and pulls her to him. She laughs as he puts his hand up her shirt and—yep, nothing underneath. But it’s not Indie’s ass that interests me, it’s the sexy little gasp Mila does when she sees another guy do the same, both of them leaning in close to whisper something to Indie.
Me, Reaper and Mack share a silent moment of agreement. It’s pretty damn clear we’re all down to show the sexy little college student a good time. None of us mind a little healthy competition, but it’s a hell of a lot more fun when we can all cross the finish line.
I take Mila’s hand and Mack releases his hold, letting me have my turn. She tears her eyes off Indie and the others, and looks up. I slip the beer bottle from her fingers and raise it to my own lips, flicking my tongue against the lip before taking a swig.
“That’s mine,” she says in a breathy whisper.
“Sorry.” I cup her chin and lower my mouth to hers, letting her taste the bitter hops on my lips as I kiss her.
Her hands creep up my chest, the tips of her fingers nearly touching my nipple rings. “Are you?”
“Not one fucking bit.”
Reaper comes up behind her and runs a finger over the pulse point and down her neck. “Want to go somewhere a little quieter?”
She hesitates.
“We're not gonna hurt you, beautiful,” Mack murmurs. “We're gonna give you a night you’ll remember for the rest of your fucking life.”
Mila swallows hard before nodding. “Show me.”