Chapter 14
Hannah
I’d sit on his beard.
“Hey! The Lyft is here, let’s go, girl! You know they’ll leave without us if we aren’t out there in like one minute. Impatient pricks....” Ellie mutters the last part mostly under her breath.
“I’m coming,” I reply. “I just had to pee!”
“I am shocked to my core, truly,” Ellie says, her words dripping with sarcasm.
Okay, so yes—I pee a lot. “I’m hydrated, sue me. At least my skin won’t look old and dry,” I shoot back.
We head out the front door, and I double-check the lock behind us.
Ellie’s already halfway into the Lyft, cheerfully greeting the driver who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. I hurry down the driveway and climb in beside her. We chat like two clucking hens the whole ride, gossiping about who we might see at the bar.
Ellie’s hopeful for a chance to catch herself a hot biker, while my stomach flips at the thought of seeing mine. Well, Sarge. I guess I can’t really say mine.
Grimace had said Sarge will be here if he can make it happen, and I’m holding onto that hope with everything I’ve got.
I don’t know how I got here; I’m excited to see a man. I guess time really does heal all wounds. Or I don’t learn.
I pull out my phone, checking my eyeliner in Snapchat, and snapping a few selfies with Ellie.
It feels amazing to be out like this with her again.
Adult friendships are hard; life and work always get in the way, but nights like these remind me that nothing beats time with my best friend.
On top of our usual dinners, we need to make this a monthly thing.
The car slows, then pulls a U-turn, tossing Ellie dramatically into my side. My stomach knots. That U-turn means we’re here.
We thank the driver and step out.
“This place really is a dive bar, isn’t it?
” Ellie says, half-smiling like she’s trying not to sound as put-off as she looks.
“Let’s get drinks. I’m starting to feel sober again, and that’s just not going to do it for me tonight.
To the alcohol we go!” She locks elbows with me and marches us forward with her other arm straight in the air like she’s leading us into battle.
My heart pounds as we walk-march toward the entrance. The bouncer outside checks our IDs, and I can’t help but notice how different it feels coming here without Martin. With him, I’d felt like a small-town celebrity, everyone waving and saying hello. Tonight, I feel... ordinary.
Inside, a few women glare at us, while men watch with hungry eyes. Not exactly the welcome wagon.
We make our way to the bar. Rose is working again, looking as voluptuous and radiant as ever, smiling in a way that probably makes her a fortune in tips.
I catch Booker behind the bar, too, surrounded by a gaggle of barely-legal girls soaking up his attention.
He’s successfully standing up straight today, at least.
But no gray-green eyes to land on me heavily from across the room. No Scally cap in sight.
Ellie and I grab a spot at the bar, and I grin at Rose. “Hi!” Maybe a little too enthusiastically. “Two lemon drop shots and two screwdrivers, please.”
Rose smiles politely, nods, and heads off to make them.
“She’s really pretty,” Ellie says. “I bet she makes bank in tips.”
“Great minds think alike, because I was just thinking that. Maybe one day we can ask her, when we’re not such newbies here. Gotta come back a few times first.”
Rose returns with our drinks. “Starting a tab?”
Before I can answer, Ellie thrusts her card forward between two fingers. “Yes, we are.” She sticks her tongue out at me as Rose takes the card to the register.
“Ellie,” I sigh, “I was gonna pay since you covered the Lyft.”
“No ma’am. I’m taking you out because I went out plenty while you were dating that asshole. You didn’t; you hardly got to do anything. Let me do this.” Her eyes are both pleading and determined.
“Fine,” I relent. “But I’m paying for pool.”
Ellie nods, satisfied. I grab the quarters from Booker, and we head toward the pool tables.
“Did you see the bartender I got the quarters from?” I yell over the music.
“Yeah,” Ellie shouts back. “He’s cute. What’s his story?”
“Don’t know, but his name’s Booker. When I was here last time, he was drunk as shit and hit on me in front of Sarge. Pretty sure he doesn’t remember, though. Thankfully.”
“Hm. He’s cute. I’d sit on his beard,” Ellie says casually, like she’s commenting on the weather. Typical Ellie.
I load the table and rack the balls while she takes Snapchat selfies, placing me in the background of a few. I stick my tongue out like the child I am. When it’s time to break, Ellie gives me her “you already know I don’t” look, so I line up and scatter the balls myself.
While she takes her turn, I scan the room again. Bikers in kuttes, sure. But not my biker. I guess we’re calling him that now. Mine.
Two hours later, we’re on our fourth game of pool. We’ve held onto the table with back-to-back wins, the bar now buzzing and packed around us. The alcohol’s settling in heavily. I sway when I mean to stand straight, and I savor the freedom of it.
I move to the loud, bass-heavy music of the small bar, allowing my loose limbs to sway and swing with abandon.
“Your turn,” Ellie says over the noise, snapping me out of my one-person performance.
That’s when I notice them. Some of Sarge’s club members have shown up and are now parked at their usual table, like it’s reserved for them.
Across the room, though, there’s another club.
One that definitely wasn’t here last time, and their backs say Scorpions.
They seem to be hanging in a tight-knit group at a booth, keeping to themselves.
Ellie, meanwhile, is next to me, full-on tipsy-loud, bubbly, classic drunk Ellie. That bubbly energy has earned her the immediate attention of a Saints of Hell prospect.
He looks young, maybe early twenties, with dark, shaggy hair and a nose ring in one nostril. Tattoos wrap his arms and climb his neck like artwork he wears proudly. He’s tall, with honey-brown eyes and a jaw sharp enough to cut glass.
Honestly? He kinda looks like the emo-biker version of young Milo Ventimiglia. Not Ellie’s usual type, but yummy nonetheless.
I’m happy for her, really I am... but a little sadness flickers in the back of my chest, along with a tiny pang of jealousy, before I can stop it.
She deserves a hot biker, too. Even if mine hasn’t bothered to show.
My stomach sours at the thought of Sarge with Scarlett. Great. Mood ruined.
Ellie glances my way, checking in, but I wave her off. “Go have fun,” I tell her, forcing a smile.
And then I think about his words—That’s not how I want this to start. It had sounded like a promise, like he’d see me again. But maybe I’m just a hopeful idiot.
I’m mindlessly scrolling through my phone at one of the tall bistro tables when someone crashes into my back, shoving me forward. I spin around, both shocked and pissed.
One of the Scorpions stands there, grinning.
“What the hell?” I snap, every ounce of frustration boiling over.
“Oh shit, sorry. What’s your name, pretty thing? You here with anyone?”
“Yes... Why?” I turn and grab my drink to take a few sips, hoping to signal uninterested.
“Name’s Diesel, and this here is Fang,” he says, gesturing to the tall man to his left. “That’s my club over there. Why don’t I introduce you?” He flashes a smile I instantly hate.
I’m a little lightheaded and dizzy. My fingers tingle like they’ve fallen asleep.
Maybe indulging in alcohol all night without prioritizing adequate water intake was a bad idea. “No, thanks, Diesel. I’m here with my friend.”
Diesel gestures around us. “I don’t see your friend now, looks like you’re free to come say hello.”
“No, thank you.” I slur out.
The room spins. I reach for a chair but miss, barely catching myself before my face meets the floor. I roll to my side, staring up at the chalk-marked ceiling swirling above me.
What the hell is going on? I haven’t had enough to drink to fall on my ass.
Ellie’s at my side in a flash. “Oh my god, girl. How much did you drink? You must be fucked up. Here, let me help you.”
The prospect she’d been flirting with rushes over too. His eyes cut to the two Scorpion members, and his voice snaps like a whip as he gets in their faces. “The fuck did you do?”
“I think she’s had too much to drink. Maybe we should take her home,” Diesel says with an amused chuckle.
Fang follows his lead and laughs in unison.
“Like hell you will, fucker. You both fuck off somewhere else. You know better than to fuck with our women.” The prospect closes in, teeth bared.
“Your women?” Diesel asks, looking amused, “I don’t see her with a Saint; she looks single to me. What about you, Fang?”
Fang nodded lazily. “She’s been sipping her drink solo for a good stretch. Her friend? Busy climbing all over Go-Go-Gadget over here.”
“Gizmo,” he snaps out, eyes hard as steel. “And you’ve got no idea how bad you two just fucked up. That’s the president’s Ol’ Lady. What the fuck did you do to her?!”
He was shouting, but his voice sounded distant and muffled, as if it were coming through deep water.
The lights above were suddenly too bright, stabbing into my eyes like needles. My body feels... wrong. Disconnected. What did he mean by the president’s Ol’ Lady? Last I checked, no one has claimed me as their anything.
Lying on the floor, I try to right myself but fail. There’s no way what I’m feeling is from alcohol alone.
It can’t be.
I’ve drunk enough to pass out, black out, and puke my brains out, but never has it felt like this. Something is very, very wrong, and panic begins to claw at the edges of my fading mind. I don’t want to be alone.
“Ellie...” My words come out slurred and heavy on my tongue. “I don’t... feel right...”
The last thing I remember is reaching my hand out for her. And then—nothing.