Chapter 6
6
ASHE
Shag got a right fucking kick out of our morning.
If it wasn’t for the bandana he wore around his face while riding, I would’ve had to watch the bastard laugh until we got back to the clubhouse.
Of course, that doesn’t mean it didn’t continue the moment we cut the bikes and there was just enough quiet for him to open his big fucking mouth again.
“Man, Henny,” he breathed intentionally, wiping a tear from his eye after his last laughing fit. “You really fucked, ” he emphasized the word, poking me in the chest, “this one.”
His own joke sent him into another bout of hysterics, and I grumbled as I pushed open the heavy wooden door to the clubhouse.
I thought about asking Shag not to say anything, but I knew it would be useless. Plus, I had already ran out of time, because as soon as Shag spotted Freddie and Charmer sitting at a table, he hurried his old ass over to laugh about it some more.
“Oi,” he wheezed, gripping the edge of the table and doubling over. “You will never guess who Henny fucked on the weekend.”
“That chick,” Charmer clicked his fingers, trying to think of the name. “Hope? Hazel? Helen? Fuckin’... Henrietta?”
“It’s Holly, you ass,” I snapped. “But no, of course not.”
I slid into the booth next to him, snatching the beer from his hands and taking a long drink.
“That redhead from the rally,” Freddie threw out his guess, looking wholly uninterested but participating anyway.
Shag wheezed with laughter still.
He was one of the three remaining founding fellas that still rode with us. Most had retired by now, or walked away under the last president’s rule.
Even though I had patched in while King was still running the chapter, I couldn’t say that I or many of the other members were too sad to see him go. Of course, we were loyal when he was president and we followed orders—even if we didn’t necessarily like them.
It was either that or get a bullet to the brain.
But I wasn’t the only one who had felt that weight lift when he died. Him being gone was the only reason I accepted the sergeant at arms rank. Because even though it had been offered to me while he was president, I wasn’t willing to be under the thumb of someone as dangerously reckless as King.
Charmer whistled. “Yeah, I bet it was her too. She gave you her number, right?”
“To organise the next rally,” I snapped again.
“Did you ‘organise’ it, Hen?” Charmer wiggled his eyebrows and I rolled my eyes.
“No!” Shag banged his fist on the table, practically trembling from the excitement of getting to say the words out loud and be the one who spread the news.
“Zarina Santino,” I said under my breath, taking another drink of Charmer’s beer.
Shag scowled and snatched the schooner from my hands, cranky that I had ruined his dramatic plans to make the announcement.
“Damn it, Henny! Can’t an old guy have any fucking fun around here?”
I chuckled, looking down and shaking my head. No one else said a word. Charmer smirked at me, but his eyes were blank and guarded. Freddie still just looked bored, though he too, stared straight at me.
“Does Princey know?” Freddie asked eventually.
Prince was, ironically, the new president, and took over after King died.
While King had gifted himself the nickname of King, Harlen Prince was actually just the dude’s name.
It was some kind of fucked up string of fate that no one knew how to explain.
King had even tried to strip Harlen of his name, insisting that we all called his little brother Prince instead, even though Harlen had already carried the title for decades.
It was some weird power play that had put a bad taste in everyone’s mouths. We all knew he was trying to put Prince in his place. But it was just another brick in the wall that King built around himself, separating him from his club.
But now he was dead. And so was his brother Joseph. And neither of the self-proclaimed MC royalty fuckin’ mattered anymore. There was no honorable legacy left behind. No respect from their father who had helped build the Redliners from the ground up and still outlived them both.
Harlen earned the respect of the oldies quickly once he finally took the president’s patch, and the rest of us just as fast. He was on a mission to do things differently, to do things better—if only we could get the fucking Santinos off our backs.
Their presence was the one thing that hadn’t changed with the new leadership, if anything, it had gotten worse.
I shook my head. “I just fuckin’ found out two minutes ago!”
That got a rare chuckle out of Freddie. “How could you not know?”
“She said her name was Penny.”
Charmer threw his head back with another laugh. “Have you not seen her before? Not even in a photo or anything?”
“Obviously not,” I pushed through gritted teeth.
“Man, you picked the right Santino to rail though. ‘Cause fuck me… that tiny little blonde, would I like to…”
The stare that I gave Charmer was enough to make him shut his mouth. The club’s treasurer happened to be one of my best mates, but that didn’t mean we hadn’t scrapped once or twice already.
And I was happy to make it a third.
But the door opened, and I groaned and sank down into the booth, knowing that I would have to hear about my mistake for the rest of the night.
If not for the rest of my life.
I knew that I would have to talk to Prince about it eventually, but I was just praying for him to not show up just yet. The joking and teasing, I could handle, but I was in no mood for a lecture.
“Ladies,” Bull nodded as he pulled a chair from the neighbouring table up to ours and sat. His shoulders were tense, and he was fidgeting already while trying to get comfortable.
The guy was almost too big to fit on a bike, but usually looked ridiculous whenever he tried to stuff himself into a car.
Roo gave us a small wave before heading to the bar to get everyone drinks.
The young prospect had been doing well, and got along with most of us good enough.
Unfortunately for Roo, his nickname did not come from any distinguishing personality or physical traits—but just for the fact that he had been hit by (you read that right, been hit by ) not one, but two, giant kangaroos and totaled his new bike within the first few weeks of getting it.
The newer bike that sat out the front already had another dent in the tank that he refused to tell anyone the origin of. He’d turned pale when Shag had pointed out that it looked a little like the thick tail of a big, red roo.
He brought the drinks to the table just as Dash sat down as well.
Shag leaned forward to grab a drink off the table, and blurted out quickly, “Henny fucked the Santino girl.”
I frowned at him, but he only shrugged.
“I wanted to tell the others, right?” he snapped.
I shook my head.
“What the fuck?” Bull chuckled.
“Seriously?” Dash smirked.
“Yes,” I sighed. “Look. I’ll allow one question from each of you and then I don’t want to hear another fuckin’ word.”
“Ohh,” Roo quickly put up his hand.
“Yes, go ahead,” I nodded towards him.
“Did her pussy taste like money?”
I threw the salt shaker at his head and the rest of the guys groaned and mumbled, knowing that that would be the last of the questions accepted.
“You fucking ruined it, you dick!” Dash snapped, throwing a pile of napkins at him.
“Yeah,” Charmer chuckled. “You leave the stupid questions ‘til last, asshole!”
“What the fuck does money even taste like, you twat?” Bull shoved him.
The kid just put up his hands, looking a little upset that he would be getting no answer, and retreated back to the bar with his metaphorical tail between his legs.
“Does Princey know?” Dash asked, sliding me a fresh beer across the table.
“No,” I rolled my eyes, knowing that I would be asked that question again and again.
I knew how the boys must have been feeling.
Conflicted.
Wanting to roast me, congratulate me, throttle me, high-five me, slap me. There’s always that urge to fist bump your mate for getting laid, but what about if it was your mortal enemy?
I knew they’d all be waiting for Prince’s reaction before they let themselves have their own.
“I’m gonna tell him tomorrow at work,” I said, taking a drink.
“You sure telling him there is a good idea? Surrounded by needles and sharp objects?” Bull raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, he might do the right thing and tattoo ‘ fuckwit ’ across your damned forehead,” Shag barked a laugh.
We all collectively rolled our eyes.
“I’m gonna head off,” I said, taking one more sip of my drink and standing, shrugging my outer jacket back on.
“Already?” Freddie asked with a frown.
“Yeah,” I smiled. “Shouldn’t drink too heavily the night before a tattoo. Right, Shag?”
“Yep. And you’d deserve every fucking spot of ink.”
“Yeah, yeah. Catch yas,” I waved, turning and heading out of the club.
I knew they would be there for much of the night, talking about my sex life, wondering what Princey’s reaction would be. But to be fair, none of us knew how he would really react. I was just hoping that our close relationship would save me from an ass kicking, or worse, being kicked out of the club all together.
Buckling my helmet and straddling my bike, I revved her to life and took a few breaths before peeling out into traffic. I took the long way home, as I usually did when I had a lot on my mind, but ended up there eventually.
When I let myself inside and flopped face-first onto my bed, I could still smell her perfume on my sheets.
How long would that woman haunt me for?
I rolled over and stared at the ceiling, contemplating doing a load of laundry right that second just to be rid of any reminders of her.