CHAPTER 2
MICHELLE “DIMPLES” TAYLOR
Over half an hour ago, I heard Storm pull into the yard, but she still hasn’t made an appearance. She likely slipped in the back and is lounging in her room. I know her well. She’s my best friend and has saved my life more than once, so I’ll cut her some slack.
Church is weighing heavy on her, although she won’t admit it. After the long winter, the girls are getting restless and reckless. I’m feeling restless myself, but I know better than to get reckless. Being reckless can get you hurt—or worse.
The club fills up early on church nights.
Once church is over, the girls are allowed to bring in outsiders—girlfriends, boyfriends, and friends—and the place will be rocking.
Still, the room is already loud. A Melissa Etheridge song on the old jukebox competes with laughter and good-natured teasing.
It’s usually my favorite night—the last Saturday when we all come together. Once a month, it feels like a chaotic family reunion, but underneath it all is a sisterhood. Here, everyone shows up. That’s the difference.
On my way to the bar, I weave around tables that are haphazardly scattered around the room. The prospects try to keep them in some semblance of order, but it’s a losing battle. The girls are always pushing tables together to play a game of Left Right Center or poker.
I smile at Halo, the Iron Thorns’ treasurer, who’s behind the bar serving drinks.
If there ever was anyone with a resting bitch face, it’s Halo.
She looks like she’d rather cut a bitch, or at least spit on her, but underneath, she’s got a heart of gold.
Not only does she take care of her own, but she works long hours as a nurse at the hospital in Saranac Lake.
“What can I get you?” Halo asks. The shelves behind her are as well-stocked as any bar.
“I’ll stick with water for now.”
Halo frowns, making her resting bitch face even more imposing. “Stomach still bothering you?”
I consider saying no, but she won’t believe me. “It’ll be better after we get through this damned meeting.”
Halo gives me a knowing nod. “One water, coming up. Plus some pretzels.”
I protest, but Halo points her finger at me. “You need to eat.” She grabs the large pretzel container from under the counter, shakes a heap onto a napkin, and pushes it across the bar.
I nibble on the pretzels to keep Halo off my back, but I’m not hungry.
A young patch sister bounds up and drops an empty pitcher on the Iron Thorns’ logo etched on the bar top. “Fill ’er up, Halo.” She puts her arm over my shoulder. “How’s it going, Dimples?”
Still seated, I wrap my arm around her and give her a hug. “I’m good. How about you?”
“Can’t complain.” She motions over her shoulder. “I’m about to kick Diesel’s ass.”
I laugh because we both know it isn’t gonna happen. I glance at the corner where the pool table and dartboards are. It’s where Diesel can usually be found. She’s slowly chalking her pool cue and studying the table. “You know she shoots better the more she drinks.”
Once Halo delivers the pitcher, the patch sister is off.
“Don’t those girls know not to challenge Diesel?” Halo says. “She’s been hustling pool longer than they’ve been alive.”
“That was us a few years ago.”
Halo raises an eyebrow. “A few?”
I groan. It’s been over a decade since I joined the club, and I swear the girls keep getting younger. “Stop. You’re making me feel old.”
“Eat.” Halo taps the bar next to the pile of pretzels that I’ve barely touched. “That’s the thing: life is change. Clubs never stay the same.”
My chest tightens. The Thorns’ clubhouse was the first place I ever felt safe.
“But Aces was a traditionalist,” I say to stave off Halo’s words.
I point up at the high-peaked ceiling. “This clubhouse still carries the bones of the old hunting lodge.” I nod toward the opposite wall at the enormous wood stove that provides much of our heat.
“Those couches have been with the club longer than me and Storm.” The well-worn leather, softened by decades of bodies, is the favorite gathering spot and the first to fill up.
Halo gives me a knowing smile. “Just because the outside stays the same doesn’t mean the inside doesn’t change.”
“For fuck’s sake, it’s church night. We’re supposed to be happy.” I flash her a huge smile because that’s what I do.
She laughs. “Sorry. Just ignore me. Tonight, I’m feeling nostalgic.”
She doesn’t say for Aces, but we both know what she means. “We’ll figure it out. All families face adjustments after the matriarch dies.” I pick up a pretzel and chomp on it. Though it tastes like cardboard, I pretend to relish the taste.
“It’s okay, hon.” She puts her warm hand on top of mine. “Storm’s carrying a huge load, and it’s okay to be worried for her.”
As I wrestle with a response, a group of eight club members bursts in the front door, letting the cold air in with them. They’re talking loud and laughing.
“Looks like you’re about to get busy.” I smile at Halo. “Besides, I need to go find Storm.”
She squeezes my hand before she lets it go. “A bartender’s job is never done.”
The girls pile up to the bar, shouting greetings and giving hugs. After saying a few words to them, I twist on my stool. The bar once sported mismatched stools and chairs, but several years ago, we bought new ones. I still miss the old hodgepodge.
As I stand and stretch my legs, a prospect comes from the supply room behind the bar—Jazmin—though we don’t call her by name.
When you’re prospecting to get into a club, you have no name.
It’s one aspect of club life I struggle with.
I know what it’s like to feel small. I’ve never forgotten it, so I won’t strip someone else down.
What I do is smile and let my dimples show. People don’t dig too deep when you’re smiling, and that’s how I like it. It’s got me through life and given me my club name.
Since we’ve got two prospects, we sometimes call Jazmin One and Nadine Two. I like One, but I haven’t warmed to Two yet.
Prospecting is a time for them to prove their loyalty and their usefulness. No matter how big a hotshot they are outside of the club, prospects do the grunt work. Errands, cleanup, anything they’re told. Their cuts are stripped down because they haven’t earned their back rocker or their name yet.
One stands a few feet from me, but she doesn’t speak. She’s learning the ropes, knowing she shouldn’t speak until spoken to.
I smile at her. “Did you need something, Prospect?”
“Yes, Captain.”
She calls me Captain because I’m the road captain.
I plan the rides, scout the routes, and make everything run the way it should.
Storm leads the clubhouse, but on the road, I’m in charge.
Keeping everyone safe is on me, and for some people, that may feel heavy.
For me, it feels safe. It gives me control over what happens to me and the people I love—something I’ve spent a lifetime trying to achieve. That’s why I take my job so seriously.
“What do you need?”
“Um.” She gives me a sheepish smile. Her perfect teeth stand out against her dark skin. She’s attractive in a tough-girl kind of way, but her expressive brown eyes soften her.
“I noticed we’re running low on toilet paper. Only a few rolls left. Should I go buy more?”
“Good eye, Prospect.” Outsiders might think it strange that I’m praising her for noticing we’re low on toilet paper, but she’s showing she’s a good prospect, looking out for the club’s needs and anticipating them without having to be asked.
It’s one of the many reasons I’ve warmed to her.
“Why don’t you check the bar and see if we need to restock? ”
She pulls a list from her back pocket. “I already took an inventory.” She hands the list to me.
I give it a quick glance and nod. “Looks good.” I flash her a smile. “Take the van.”
Her eyes widen, but she recovers and says, “Yes, Captain.”
Some full-patch sisters would make her carry the items on her bike, requiring several trips. That just seems ridiculous to me. I’m not into power plays.
Frost would disagree. She’d say I was too soft on the prospects. She’s complained to Storm about it several times, and I suspect it’ll come up in church again tonight. If I were the one giving Frost her road name, it’d be Shit Stirrer.
Since Storm became president six months ago, Frost has been up her ass. Always starting sentences with, If Aces were still here. It drives me crazy, but as the road captain, I have to keep my mouth shut.
“Is there anything else you need?” Jazmin asks.
“No, I’m good. Where’s Prospect Two?”
She motions over her shoulder with her thumb. “Last I saw her, she was having a smoke.”
“Make sure she blows up the air mattresses for tonight and remind her to put fresh drinks on the officers’ table for church.” It’s something she should remember, but I look out for the prospects when I can.
“Does everyone want their regular?”
Something else a prospect is expected to know. The drink preferences of all the members. I hesitate before I say, “Tell her to check what everyone wants when they come in.”
“I’ll tell her.” She smiles again, and I can’t help staring at her lips.
Damn. I need to get it together. Prospects are off-limits.
“Now get outta here,” I say in my gruff tone.
Her lips quiver, but she holds back her smile as she nods and hurries from the room.