CHAPTER 27
The most attractive quality a person can have is a damn good sense of humor.
My reservations about joining Raven for drinks sit heavy at the forefront of my mind as I pull into the parking lot.
Passing nearly two dozen motorcycles lined up in front of the bar doesn’t help.
It’s not that I don’t know what I’m walking into—I do.
Monday nights are something of a ritual for the HOCs, after all.
It’s more the idea of who might be among them that has me planning for the best and preparing for the worst.
Will Goose being here deter me from moving forward with the next part of my plan?
No.
Just like his proximity hasn’t stopped me from dancing my ass off at Wet Tips night after night, agreeing to lap dances, or flirting with a few of his brothers whenever the opportunity presents itself.
If anything, knowing it gets under his skin only spurs me on. And there’s something about my flirting with Stone in particular that riles his blood. It’s something he can’t mask.
So I make a point to focus my attention on him. Call it a small slice of vindication—for the hell I lived through because of him, and the chaos he’s stirred up in my head lately.
Everything I’ve discovered about him recently has thrown me for a loop. I’m honestly not sure how to deal with any of it.
In some ways, I don’t feel as if I know him at all.
So is it smart to be in his orbit with a good dose of alcohol in my system?
No. Absolutely not. This would add a whole new layer of risk to an already complicated situation.
Add to the fact that certain types of alcohol hit me differently and trigger all kinds of reactions, which means I must make a conscious effort to keep myself in check tonight.
After finally finding a spot in the packed lot, I take a moment to pull myself together.
Using the sun visor mirror, I reapply my lipstick and work on slipping into character, practicing my expressions, whispering lines under my breath.
When I’m ready, I pocket the lipstick, cash, and ID, and step out of the car.
After locking my purse in the trunk, I head for the front door.
My stone-washed jeans, like my shirt, are tight as sin, and the black leather boots I’m wearing hit mid-knee with five-inch heels.
They’re hell on my feet, but worth it for the attention they draw.
My shirt’s the real showstopper, though.
It’s black, sleeveless, with a plunging neckline and a shamelessly low back that shows off my ink.
It’s the perfect outfit to help me blend in at a biker bar, while also standing out.
I’ve paired it with my jewelry, my armor—the one part of me that’s real. Two layered silver necklaces, bracelets that jingle when I move, and all my favorite rings, which also happen to be my good luck charms—rings that I spin now and then, when I’m stressed, which tonight are a necessity.
Dressing for effect is something I learned through my lifelong addiction to fashion and lifestyle magazines.
Back when I couldn’t get an education, they were my window into the worlds I wanted to know more about.
The rings came later and help to ground me to my true identity whenever I’m emotionally overwhelmed.
Music also helps, which is the case as I get closer and hear Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Run Through the Jungle” filtering out from inside the bar. I hum the tune as I approach.
A younger prospect, one of the bikers going through the MC’s initiation process, guards the bikes, and near him are a few other guys who are smoking. One of them whistles when he sees me, but I just smile, wave, and keep walking.
My steps slow when I spy the dark-green Harley with the heart-shaped seat.Before I can get too deep in my feels about it, my attention is pulled away by a voice filled with pure grit. “Jesus, sweetheart!Where you been all my life?”
He’s a thick-chested biker with long, wild, red hair and an equally unruly beard.
His cut is aged to perfection and riddled with patches that speak of a lifetime not only in the MC but on the open road.
He’s standing against the building, wearing jeans and a black and white plaid shirt, with his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, which are covered in faded tattoos.
He’s sporting a black bandana and large chunky rings, and a smoke hangs precariously from his lips.
I’ve run into him a time or two at the strip club, and so far, I’ve gotten away with my ruse. He’s given me questioning looks now and again, as if he’s trying to place where we’ve met before, but hasn’t yet pieced it together.
I give Griz a warm grin as I approach. “Looking for you. But you’re a hard man to find.”
His chuckle is both deep and sexy.
Deeds’ uncle is seven years older than Pappy, and has more silver running through his hair and beard than he did when I first met him, which was the night Goose popped back into my life like a resurrected ghost.
He’s the kind of person you fall instantly in love with. Down to earth, rock-steady, and funny as hell. Which is how this second meeting of souls pretty much goes.
He sidles up to me and places his hand on my lower back.
“You gonna allow a man to escort your pretty ass inside? Make all these young fuckers jealous because I saw you first?” He jerks his chin toward the front door.
“I’m not sure it’s smart to let you go in there lookin’ like that.
Gonna break some necks when the boys catch sight of ya. Maybe even a few hearts.”
I chuckle heartily. “Yeah? Am I breakin’ yours?”
His gaze ventures down my front. “Darlin’, you’ve got no damn idea how smokin’ you are, do ya?”
“Maybe a little,” I confess.
“Damn. That’s even sexier. Confident, smokin’, and smart enough to know it. From what I’ve seen, talented too. You married?”
“Not yet? You applying for the job?”
“Let’s see where tonight goes, and I just might be.”
We share a laugh as he opens one side of the large wooden front doors. Then he extends his elbow to me and I give him a genuine smile as I wrap my arm around his.
“Surely, if seeing me dance at the club didn’t kill ’em, then I doubt my ass in a pair of jeans will.”
He shakes his head. “A great ass in denim is like kryptonite to these fuckers. Watch and learn, young Padawan.” He pats my hand.
“Well, I’ve worked pretty damn hard to keep it in shape. Let’s hope you’re right.”
It’s my persona talking, one that wears confidence like a second skin. And there lies the secret. I have to become this version of myself to pull it off with any success. To really and truly feel it down to my bones.
Griz’s gruff words bring me out of my head and back into the moment. “Ya gonna save me a dance, darlin’?”
“Oh, do they have a dance floor?”
“Sure do. You know how to swing?”
“Wouldn’t be a very good dancer if I didn’t.”
“True that.” He nods. “How about I come find you after you’ve settled in and found your people?”
“I’d love that. Do you happen to know where Raven is?”
Music reverberates around the bar. There’s a heavy scent of weed, and it’s packed with people. We get a few odd looks as people check us out, but I ignore them in favor of finding the woman with ebony hair who talked me into this adventure.
Framed pictures and beer signage cover the walls, pictures from a time long past—MC clubs from the sixties and seventies, and some of the Hollywood icons from that era, too. Plus, Woodstock memorabilia, old concert posters, and record covers.
I take it all in as I enter and search the crowd for Raven.
A large group is gathered in front of a massive dartboard to my right, and further back are three pool tables. A good many HOCs are in that area. Stone is currently circling a table, preparing to take his shot.
In the middle of it all is a sectioned-off dance floor, which is surrounded by hefty wooden tables and chairs. The place has a more saloon-like vibe than a bar, and reminds me of a place I once visited in San Antonio.
“Raven’s at the bar chattin’ up Beth,” Griz answers and proceeds to steer me through the crowd. He pushes a big guy wearing a cowboy hat out of the way. The guy spins with a harsh look on his face and opens his mouth, but the second he gets a look at who shoved him, he backs up and shuts his mouth.
More of the same happens until we arrive at the bar. At which point, I see Raven on a stool doing exactly what Griz said. She’s got her elbows on the bar top and is talking animatedly over the music to the stunning blonde woman working behind the counter.
“Look who I found outside,” Griz announces as we approach.
Raven turns. The bartender’s gaze falls on me, and I put two and two together, realizing Beth is Bethany Hodge, Old Lady to Travis Hodge, owner of the bar and the man serving drinks at the other end of it.
“Hey! I was wondering if you were going to show,” Raven calls out. She taps the guy on the seat next to her and whispers something. The guy looks at her, looks back at me, but it’s not until his eyes land on Griz that he jumps off his seat and gestures for me to take it.
As I sit, Griz places a few bills on the bar and tells Bethany, “Get her whatever she wants. Make her feel welcome.”
Bethany nods. “That I can do.”
Griz pats my back. “Don’t forget about that dance, darlin’.”
“You’re number one on my dance card,” I joke back, and he chuckles before he strides off.
Bethany sweeps up the money. “What can I get ya?”
I look over to see Raven drinking a beer, and say, “I’ll have what she’s having.”
Bethany sets the bottle in front of me in no time. Raven quickly introduces us. “Beth, Lily. Lily, Beth or Bethany. She goes by either. Lily’s the new girl at Tips. No doubt you’ve heard about her by now.”
Bethany smirks. Her striking light-green eyes trail over my attire. “Love the top. Daring and dangerous. I don’t have the guts to pull something like that off, but love a woman who can.”
“Thank you. Not too much?”
“Hell no,” they say at the exact same time.