Chapter Three #2
Tonight, the club is celebrating the new prospects who’ve been initiated into the club, and that also means open doors.
Bikers from surrounding clubs attend to party, and they usually last well into the morning.
I know there will be a steady flow of alcohol, pot, and sex, which is a huge reason I was never allowed to be here until I was legal.
Heavy rock music blasts from speakers, and a crowd of men in leather and girls in various degrees of undress hang out on the front lawn, drinking and smoking joints. The earthy scent hits my nose and piques my interest.
“Not a chance, Enna,” Lincoln says as he wraps an arm around my shoulders, steering me inside the clubhouse. “No drugs.”
“Why? I’ve never tried it.”
“Because taking it from a trusted source matters. You never know what it could be laced with. You want to get high? I’ll get you something, and we can all smoke together.” I perk up instantly.
“I knew you were the cool one.”
“That’s right. Make sure you remind Mad a few times, yeah?”
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that. Now get off me, you stink,” I say as I shrug out of his hold.
“Funny. You and I both know that’s a bold-faced lie.
” I roll my eyes, knowing he’s right, I just don’t want to admit it.
“Now, be safe.” Lincoln’s parting words linger as he leaves me at the sleek bar my dad built himself inside the clubhouse.
I’ve never seen it close up, but he showed me photos, and I knew it was beautiful.
But nothing could prepare me for seeing it in person.
My dad’s always been an extremely talented woodworker, but he outdid himself on this one.
A guy who can’t be much older than I am stops in front of me from the other side of the bar. He’s got a head full of blond hair and deep-set blue eyes. The leather cut he wears says PROSPECT, so I know he’ll be focused on working tonight and won’t be an option to chat with.
“What can I getchya?”
“Oh. Uhm, a beer? I guess?”
“Oh, you don’t want that, the beer here tastes like piss.
She’ll have a ruby red,” a deep voice adds from over my shoulder.
I turn slightly to face him. He’s much older, with dark hair shaved close to his scalp, deep brown eyes, and the start of slight wrinkles at the corners.
He’s definitely closer to my dad’s age than mine.
I wouldn’t say he’s good-looking, but I suppose for his age, it works for him.
My eyes flash from the rough, dark hair on his face to his leather cut, reading his road name in my head.
Cain. Interesting choice. Not that the wearer is given one.
Road names are bestowed on each member as they’re voted in, usually from a club president or someone important in their life.
“Pretty presumptuous of you to assume I like my drinks sweet. Maybe I wanted the beer.”
“Honey, nobody wants the beer here, so you ain’t foolin’ me.”
I laugh at that; he’s probably right. The last beer I had made me want to immediately spit it right back out.
But he’s dead wrong about the fruity little cocktail he ordered me.
I’ve been sipping on Aspen Ridge whiskey with my dad since I turned fifteen.
It was the one thing he was cool about. Wanted to make sure his only daughter knew how to shoot whiskey.
“What’s your name?” he asks, taking a seat on the only free barstool. I stand sandwiched between him as he faces me, legs spread wide, and another member to my other side, a patch bunny practically dry humping his leg.
I tuck some hair behind my ear. “Sienna.”
“Pretty name for a pretty girl.” Okay, so he’s definitely flirting now, not just being nice. A weird sensation washes over me. It’s not flattery, it’s more . . . ominous?
“Yours?” I ask in return, trying to be polite while I wait for the drink I definitely didn’t want to arrive.
“Cain.”
“That’s your road name. What’s your name name?”
“Everyone calls me Cain.” Okay then. “You don’t look like you’ve been here before.”
“Is it written on my forehead in big neon letters?”
He laughs, and it doesn’t sound terrible. “It’s the eyes. Always gives someone away.”
“Oh, yeah? And what are mine saying?”
“That you’re a little too excited to be here, which means you have expectations, something you wouldn’t have if you’ve been here before.”
Well, he’s got me there. “Yeah? What else?” I ask, leaning into playing his dumb little game. My drink is set down between us, and Cain pulls his hand free from his pocket, grabbing my drink off the bar top and handing it to me. I take it, our fingers brushing in the exchange.
“They’re saying you’re looking for a good time.” It takes all I have not to roll my eyes. Lame. Of course I’m looking for a good time, I’m at a motorcycle clubhouse party. Why else would I be here? To play a game of checkers?
Not wanting to piss him off when he’s being nice to me, I hum around the rim of my drink, taking a heavy pull of the pink, foamy liquid. It’s overly sweet and tangy, and I instantly hate it. But I know whatever is in it will take the edge off.
“You here with anyone, Sienna?”