Chapter 25 #2
Meela gave me a crash course in outlaw biker culture on the drive over.
Let’s just say it’s complicated… and dangerous.
Honestly, I don’t get why anyone would willingly sign up for it.
I guess some people like living on the edge.
Not me. I prefer life quiet, normal, and far from anything with a body count.
I’m secretly hoping he doesn’t let us in.
My bravado fled the instant Meela pulled into the parking lot, and I saw the large crowd milling about outside.
To say I’m jumpy is an understatement. My gaze scans every face in the vicinity, searching for Sandman.
Spotting him first is the only advantage I have.
“Sorry, can’t do that,” he says, his head shaking in the negative.
“You wanna get kicked in the dick?”
“Look, there’s a private party going on tonight,” he explains. “But even if there wasn’t, I couldn’t let you in. Twenty-one and over only, sweet cheeks.”
“Call me sweet cheeks again, and I’ll rip off your testicles and feed them to you,” she growls, taking a threatening step forward.
“My bad.” He holds his hands up, palms facing her. “I don’t want no problems, but you still ain’t getting in.”
“Do you have any idea who I am?” Meela’s voice rises a few octaves. “My father was one of the founding members!”
“No jailbait allowed inside.” His thin shoulders lift in a shrug. “I let you in and it’s my ass.”
“I’m eighteen, prospect, which means by law I’m a grown-ass woman,” Meela gripes in annoyance, pointing at her birthday sash. “Now step aside!”
“Twenty-one and over,” he reiterates, widening his stance. “Prez’s orders.”
Meela throws up her hands in frustration. “For the millionth time, Zeus knows I’m coming. I’m here to see Jigsaw.”
“Mm-hmm.” He cocks an eyebrow, his steel-gray gaze landing on me. “What about her?”
“She’s with me.” Meela cocks her own eyebrow. “Jig is waiting on me. You don’t want to get on his bad side, trust me.”
He sighs but opens the door and waves us inside. “Be good.”
“Being good is for pussies.” She winks at him and struts into the building.
“I’m gonna regret this,” he mumbles under his breath.
I traipse in behind her, literally shaking in my high heels.
What in the actual fuck?
Naked women strutting around in stilettos everywhere, drugs being consumed openly, carnal happenings in dark corners, and everything in between.
I scurry next to her. “Do you think we should be here right now?”
“Yeah,” she replies, scrunching her face at me. “Why not?”
“Because,” I sweep my arm in a wide arc, “the live-action porn setup is freaking me out.”
She rolls her eyes. “Relax, we’re going to have an amazing time.”
I highly doubt that.
“There he is,” Meela whispers close to my ear, her hand clasping onto my arm in a death grip.
I stiffen, prepared to make a swift exit if necessary. “Who?”
“Jigsaw.” She sighs, her eyelashes fluttering dramatically. “The man I’m going to marry.”
“There are a lot of men here,” I deadpan. “Mind being a little more specific?”
She points to a group of men sitting at a table. “The one with the scars on his face.”
“What happened?” I ask, jolted by his appearance.
“Don’t know, but the scars make him twenty million times sexier.” She licks her lips, eyeing him like a popsicle on a hot summer day.
“Um… isn’t he old enough to be your father?” Or grandfather.
“Haven’t you heard?” Meela smiles cheekily, doing the finger-in-the-hole gesture. “The older the dick, the harder the stick.”
I laugh despite myself. “You’re something else.”
“Let’s sit over there.” She nods at the booth directly across from where her future husband is sitting. “The silver fox with the beard is Zeus.”
Sandman’s father. He’s too busy fingering the woman perched on his lap to notice us, but Jigsaw’s glowering gaze is glued to Meela. If looks could kill… she has to feel his eyes on her, but she’s doing a good job of not letting it show. It’s obvious they have history.
I sit opposite her. “Unless you were held back a grade, I’m guessing you aren’t actually eighteen.”
“You would be correct.”
“What’s up with the birthday sash?”
“Tell you when I get back.” She sashays to the bar with a little extra razzle dazzle in her steps, but the man she’s being extra for doesn’t look too happy.
After collecting six shots of tequila, she makes her way back with the same razzle-dazzle.
“I’m bagging my man tonight,” she announces, determination in every word.
“Meaning?”
“Jig won’t touch me because I’m seventeen.” She quickly gulps down a shot. “He doesn’t understand that age means nothing.”
“Let me get this straight.” I rub my forehead. “You’re pretending to be a year older just to get some old man’s peen?”
“It’s more than just sex,” Meela snaps at me. “We belong together. He’s just fighting it right now.”
I regard her thoughtfully for a moment. “You love him.”
“Yeah,” she says, nodding solemnly. “I do.”
“Then I hope it works out.”
“I’ll drink to that.” She downs another shot, and I take my first. “Did Leah tell you about the party next Saturday?”
“No. Whose party?”
“Some douchebag perv who graduated last year, but that’s not important,” Meela answers me. “It’s his birthday and he throws the best parties, hands down. I’m talking free booze, food, and pot. You should definitely come.”
“Yeah, sure,” I respond, happy for the invite. “What time?”
“Come over at eight,” she answers me. “We can get ready together.”
“Okay,” I say, then gulp down a second shot. “So why do you call him douchebag perv?”
“Because he tries to fuck every girl he comes into contact with,” Meela replies, her pretty features contorting with revulsion. “He’s not even cute.”
“You don’t belong here, Trash.”
I whip my head toward the familiar voice, my spine snapping straight. My gaze clashes with the woman from the restaurant. She’s naked, and to be honest, her body looks damn amazing—her makeup and loose, flowing curls are on point too.
“You’re the one walking around naked,” I retort sweetly. “I think we all know who the trash is here.”
Her eyes narrow to tiny slits. “You’re going to pay for your disrespect, bitch.”
“I suggest you run along and find a dick to suck,” Meela quips, flicking her hand in a shooing motion. “Wouldn’t want to get that pretty little face messed up.”
“You fat pig—”
“Is there a problem, Ivy?” Zeus rumbles, and the woman’s mouth snaps shut.
“N-no, e-everything’s f-fine,” she stammers, her gaze on the floor.
“Then go about your business,” he demands.
She marches off, but not before shooting me a disdainful look. This Ivy woman is going to be a major pain in my rear end. I already have enough on my plate as it is.
“What the hell was that about?” Meela asks.
I sigh and relay the restaurant incident to her, though omitting some details.
“I don’t personally know her, but I’ve seen her around,” Meela mentions when I’m done. “She’s a twinkie and is always chasing behind Sandman. She wants to be his old lady.”
“Twinkie? Old lady?” More motorcycle world lingo I don’t understand.
Meela quickly absolves my ignorance, supplying the definition for both. “Girls become twinkies for varying reasons. Some just like the mystique of fucking hot criminal bikers, while others hope for an old lady title one day.”
“So twinkies fuck countless men a week?” I clench my thighs together. My vagina could never withstand the mileage.
“Don’t sound so horrified.” She laughs at me. “They know what they’re getting into and they obviously enjoy it.”
“Is that what you want? To be Jigsaw’s old lady?”
“Yep.” Meela stands and straightens her tiara. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
I watch on pins and needles as she sashays over to Jigsaw. He watches her too, tracking her exaggerated steps with fire in his eyes. She steps between his sprawled legs and slowly trails a finger down his chiseled arm.
Dang, I wish I knew what they were saying.
Laughter ripples through the people around them. Meela stiffens, her hands clenched at her sides, then storms toward the dance floor like a woman with something to prove. She grabs the first man she sees—tall, lanky, and too eager.
She bends over and starts twerking on him, her white bone-straight wig brushing the concrete flooring. The man enthusiastically gyrates against her, his fingers firmly digging into her fleshy waistline. Her already short white leather dress rides further up her thick thighs, exposing a tiny thong.
I barely register the blur of motion before Jigsaw is in front of them. His fist cracks against the guy’s jaw—bone on bone—and the man hits the floor like a dropped puppet.
I gasp, frozen. No one else blinks. Around us, the music thumps, drinks clink, conversations flow.
Like a man getting laid out mid-song is normal.
Like violence is just… punctuation. Meela smiles with wide-eyed innocence at the giant towering over her, as if she didn’t just light a match.
I still can’t make out what they’re saying, but it’s clear Jigsaw isn’t happy with her antics.
His face is hard with fury, pulling his scars into harsh definition.
And Meela—insane, glorious Meela—cups his crotch like it’s hers to hold.
Has she lost her damn mind?
Jigsaw seizes her wrist and wrenches her arm behind her back, yanking her tight against his chest. She kisses him, and my jaw nearly hits the floor.
Meela was serious about getting her man tonight, but now said man looks even more pissed.
He throws her over his shoulder like she weighs nothing.
She laughs—actually laughs—and smacks his ass as he carts her through a side door.
Then they’re gone.
Oh my fuck. What do I do? I knew I should’ve stayed home.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”