Chapter 13
Roishin
F ollow my lead. How ? Bear shoved his way to the bar, parked my ass on a stool, and left me stranded.
I was an island of confusion inside a whirlwind of anarchy.
The jukebox blasted out a familiar song and I couldn’t help but tap my foot.
And that led to swaying in my chair. And that attracted attention.
“ What are you drinking?”
The prospect Wolf handed me off to waited for my reply. “ Bear said there was whiskey for sale here?” I didn’t particularly want whiskey, but he did say ‘follow my lead’ and that was all I had to go off of.
“ Ha ! It’s already bought.” The kid snapped his fingers and yelled over the bar. “ Yo , Whoosh , get this sweet piece of ass a glass of Bear’s private reserve. She’s his ride for the night.”
I caught about half of that, and didn’t like the implications.
“ Do I look like your bitch?” Whoosh stopped in front of me and looked me up and down. “ You don’t look like one of his regular girls.” Something flickered in his eyes. “ You sure that’s what you want?”
He practically dared me with his tone. A challenge to my position. “ I’ll take Bear’s private reserve.” I tipped my head to the other guy, indicating that Whoosh should listen to him.
As I did, I remembered an overheard conversation. That last drug deal about a week ago. Whoosh didn’t have the drugs Carl ordered. And I was deathly afraid Carl was going to kill him in front of where I was hiding.
The marks next to Carl’s back door.
The glee Carl took over my part in them. The lust in his eyes as he anticipated more bloodshed.
That was an awful night. I didn’t sleep at all for fear he’d visit me in my locked closet.
Whoosh , or Sketch , was a murderer.
Maybe that’s why he didn’t like me. These men knew about Carl , and probably all about me. I girded myself with bravado I hadn’t used in years. “ I’m sure.”
Whoosh smirked at me. “ Not that you deserve it, but Bear or Wolf will have my ass if I fuck up.” He set a glass on the bar and then pulled a hand-labeled bottle down from the top shelf.
There were many up there like that. Brands I’d never or rarely seen in any of the clubs I’d frequented. I braced myself for the worst.
And realized with one sniff, I’d misjudged alcohol my entire life. The aroma had nuance, measured complication, and most of all…promise. I took a tentative sip and marveled at the explosion of heat, flavor, and complexity.
Of course, drinking straight whiskey had side effects. Like the strong urge to cough out the flaming fumes that wafted up from the pit of my stomach and clung to the throat, or the sudden rush of heat to my skin.
I fought both reactions and managed to casually observe, “ That’s pretty good.”
“ Pretty good? Are you shitting me? That’s handcrafted bourbon. It’s seven years old.”
I stared at him, mimicking Carl’s best psychotically bland indifference. I may not be as violent as he could be, but I certainly observed the expression enough times to create a good facsimile.
Whoosh gave up, setting the bottle back in place with a mumbled, “ Whatever .” Then in a lower voice, he said, “ I hope Bear knows what he’s doing,” before walking to the other end of the bar to ogle the stripper and fill orders there.
After positioning himself two chairs away, the prospect assigned to me turned his back, also watching the stripper.
Which hurt. Sure , I deliberately donned that act, and wanted to avoid their interest. By doing so, I’d cut myself off from an opportunity to make a connection with these people.
And a month from now, would that matter?
No .
If everything went well, the only times I’d ever come back to this region would be holidays, and only then, to visit Beth and her family. Not hang out with bikers.
Fuck it . I sipped the whiskey in blissful solitude while the insanity of the Destroyers clubhouse spun around me like a wobbling top. Eventually , the party would end. Everything did. Friendships , dreams, lives…
“ I heard you came in with Bear .”
The woman who’d approached me had bleached blonde hair and obviously augmented lips and breasts. She sat down on the stool between the prospect and I , and set her drink on the bar.
I desperately wanted a lifeline. Could I trust her? Probably not. That didn’t stop me from answering.
“ I did.”
She scanned my outfit. Thank goodness I wasn’t still wearing the hobo look Betty Jo commented upon. “ Are you from that bitch club that Tits runs with?”
Tits … I’d heard her mentioned as the president’s wife. “ No .” I immediately regretted not saying yes, and adopting a temporary cloak of hierarchy, because her attitude shifted from nasty to worse.
“ Funny , you look like one of them.”
“ Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
Her eyes drifted up and fixed on my hair. “ How long is your hair? And is it real?”
By rote I answered, “ Real , and over four and a half feet.”
“ You’re fucking shitting me.”
If I only had a dollar for every time someone said that… “ Nope .”
“ Wow . I know a hairdresser who’d pay you for this.” She petted a loose braid with an unhealthy compulsion, ignoring my personal space.
“ Not for sale.” I tugged it back and wound the mass into a tight bun that hid behind my neck. The helmet Bear gave me this morning wouldn’t fit over my head if I fixed them higher.
As I did, she reached for my glass and sniffed. “ What ‘you drinking?”
I took the glass back as soon as her nose wrinkled.
“ Whiskey .”
“ Are you sure you’re not one of Tits’s friends?”
This time, I ignored her. That did the trick because she said something rude and cruel and flounced off, taking time to flirt with the prospect, who finally paid attention.
But he was called off seconds later to run beers to a table.
These people invented their very own waitstaff of prospects to serve them. Two men crowded into the space left behind. One jostled me as he slid his wide body onto the barstool.
“ I hear you’re Bear’s ?”
I wasn’t in truth. My eyes dipped to his leather vest. It was decorated similarly to Bear’s but had different colored patches on it. Even without seeing the back, I guessed he wasn’t from the club Bear rode with. “ You must have excellent hearing,” I deadpanned.
Out of habit, I held my hand over the glass of whiskey, turning it as I covered the rim.
The action caught his attention. He asked, “ Whatcha drinking?”
What could I say to get him to leave me alone? “ Bear’s private reserve.”
“ Lemme smell.” His hand shot out to grab, like the woman’s had, and I was damn tired of this game.
“ No .” I slid the glass away and tucked it against the wall, now completely covered with my left hand.
“ You’re a bitch.”
The other one leaned around his friend and scanned my outfit. “ I don’t see any property marks on her.”
Like I needed them in order to not be harassed?
Of course, given the location, events surrounding me, and the general lack of order, I could be wearing a neon sign that read, “hazardous waste,” and these assholes would probably still mess with me.
They didn’t look like the picky type.
Speaking of marks. I traced a hex into the air in front of me and rattled off some Latin I’d memorized from a dystopian novel. Then added to the vibe with a real protection spell.
I even spit onto the floor at the closest one’s feet to seal the deal. Then stared him down.
This would either end with me getting hit and dragged out of here, or they’d walk away. Odds were fifty-fifty. And since I was a long-ass way from the door, someone would have to step in, wouldn’t they?
The bigger and hairier one of the two broke first. He had less to prove. But the smaller one goaded him. “ Don’t pussy out, Tilly . She’s just a little thing.”
“ I think she cursed me.”
“ It’s in your head. She’s like that bitch in those videos. You know the one who says stupid shit to scare men.” He kept his buddy’s bulk as a wall between him and I , but sidled closer. “ You’re just a scared little girl…”
Of all the things he could say, that was the worst.
“ I killed a man when I was fourteen. I’m almost thirty now and possess a much more effective imagination.”
If only I had a knife, or something that would equalize this situation. I grinned, letting a little of my insanity shine through. Loathsome as it was, I empathized with Carl in this moment. He could do crazy like no one I’d ever seen. Of course with him, it was natural. Mine was earned.
The big guy hesitated. “ She’s Bear’s .” He hit his partner with the back of his hand to get his attention. Then he flagged down Whoosh . “ Yo , prospect!”
Whoosh glared at him. “ I ain’t your prospect.”
“ My buddy here doesn’t believe she’s Bear’s woman.” His voice held a small tremor.
Whoosh’s eyes narrowed on me. He could sink me with a single denial.
“ She came in with him, and he’s probably going to be leaving with her, so… yeah.”
“ Told ya!” The bigger one of the two shoved the smaller one away. But my antagonist bounced right back, sliding closer.
“ I wanna touch.”
A baseball bat hit the bar rail next to me with a loud clang that reverberated from our end of the bar to the other. Everyone turned to look.
There was a dent in the brass almost as wide as my palm.
“ Touch her and die.” Whoosh had stepped on something behind the bar because he stood taller than he had, and leaned forward, almost climbing over the bar as he did. One hand was on the bat, the other on his waist. There was a gun strapped there that I hadn’t noticed before.
I leaned back in my barstool, still keeping one hand on the drink I’d barely touched, and the other rested in my lap, as if I hadn’t a care in the world.
But my heart was racing and my ears rang from the shock of Whoosh’s violent outburst.
Yet , I couldn’t resist letting the corner of my mouth curve upward. Carl did that when he was particularly pleased at some tragedy. If this man was about to die, I’d wear that smile throughout the entire act.