Chapter 4
DIESEL
I could easily throw her over my shoulder and carry her to the private rooms, and I think she knows that.
She couldn’t weigh more than a buck ten, yet she stands up to me, so I stare at her, trying to figure out her game.
Shit, most of the women here would’ve dragged me into the private rooms, but for whatever reason, I didn’t want the others. I want her.
I steer her to the end of the bar, then throw the evil eye at two guys who immediately give up their seats.
“Wow.” She slides onto the now vacant barstool. “That was impressive. You didn’t have to say a word.”
“Comes with the territory.”
“You mean, ‘cause you own this place?”
“That, and my brothers and I have a rep in this city.”
“Your brothers? How many brothers do you have?”
“Nah, sweetheart, they’re my club brothers. Like real brothers, only we’re bound together through the Royal Bastards.”
“And the Royal Bastards are . . .?”
“An outlaw MC. A one-percenters motorcycle club.”
“I don’t know much about bikers or their clubs.”
“I kinda figured that out.” Most women have their eyes either glued to my tats, muscles or the officer’s patch on my cut. “Like I said before, you’re different.”
I look deep into her eyes, searching for the lie, but I only see honesty. Either she really didn’t know who we were, or she is the best damn actress in the world.
I flag over Marisol, Smoke’s old lady and our bar manager, who sets a shot glass in front of me and . . .
“Shit, babe, I just realized I don’t know your name.”
“Martina.”
Martina—pretty name—had me revved up from the minute she hit the stage. Then those fuckin’ moves.
“Geez, Diesel.” Marisol shakes her head and smirks. “You’ve got a beautiful woman with you, and you don’t even know her name.”
“All right, all right, don’t be a wise ass. It’s been a little crazy tonight.”
Marisol sets me up with a shot of Jack, then turns to Martina. “What would you like, hon?” She holds up the bottle of Jack, and Martina shakes her head. “You like tequila?”
“I don’t want to do shots. I did that once, and I still can’t remember the night clearly.”
My fucked-up brain pictures all kinds of kinky scenes, but I keep my mouth shut. No sense scaring her off before we even get started. Shit, she did a fuckin’ split right on stage. So, fuck yeah, after a few drinks, we’re definitely getting something started.
“How about one of my special margaritas?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Marisol makes the drink in record time and places it in front of Martina.
I raise my shot glass. “Here’s to knowing each other’s names.”
We clink glasses, and I down my shot. She sips at her drink, then cocks her head. “I take it you getting a woman’s name isn’t usually a priority?”
If I didn’t answer this right, I would sound like a low-down dog, so I do what I do best.
“Your name is definitely worth knowing.” Avoid and distract.
“You’re good, I’ll give you that.” She throws me a little wink, and swear to fuck, my dick bounces against the zipper of my jeans, then pulses to the point of pain.
“Ahhh, you have no idea.”
She motions to my one-percent patch. “You were about to tell me what this one means.”
“It means we are the one percent of all bikers who tell the law and society to fuck off.”
“I see.”
Even though I could tell she didn’t. Nobody really knew this life unless they lived it, and even then, some of the shit that went down could get sketchy. In the end, it was the first time even a fuck-up like me ever felt accepted, and that was everything.
“Must be very liberating.”
My lips twist into a grin. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“Like those guys before. All you had to do was look at them, and they moved out of their seats. No argument, no muss, no fuss.”
“Pretty much.”
“Must be nice to have that kind of power.” Her voice fades, and I can’t help wondering what or who she’s thinking about that took away her power. She is such a tiny thing, I hate the thought of some guy giving her shit or roughing her up. A second later, my fists clench at the thought.
“With power comes responsibility, and you gotta know how to use it when you need it, but not abuse it when you don’t.” Where the fuck did that come from? Me going deep with a woman usually began with buying a drink and ended between the sheets with very little talking in between.
“But I guess you have to admit getting these seats was a little abuse of power, right?”
“Absolutely not. I had a beautiful woman who needed a seat, and those fuckers should’ve gotten up for you anyway.”
“Ahhhh, so you’re a gentleman too.”
“I’ve been called a lot of things, babe, but never a gentleman.”
The music amps up as more women take the stage, but I don’t even bother to look. I’m zeroed in on Martina, fuckin’ sexy name, with her big brown innocent eyes. Eyes shining with a dangerous mix of innocence and hellfire. Oh yeah, my birthday is shaping up very nicely.
I slide my hand over the back of her barstool and—
“So, brother, you enjoying your birthday?” Blood drapes his thick arm around my shoulder, then grips the edge of the bar to steady himself.
“I sure the fuck am.” I give him the side-eye, but of course, the fucker doesn’t get the hint.
“I can see that.” Blood focuses on Martina. “You were hot on stage, sweetheart. Total fire.”
He throws her a lopsided grin, and I crane my neck over the crowd. “Where’s Maxie? She should be taking care of your drunk ass.”
“She’s bullshitting with the women.” Blood waves his arm around the room. “Who the fuck knows what they talk about, and who are you calling drunk?”
“You, shithead. Just make sure you’re in the gym nice and early tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there.” He wraps me in a bear hug, then unsteadily turns from the bar and disappears into the crowd.
“He’s cute. Kinda like a big teddy bear.”
“I’ll be sure to tell our VP you compared him to a stuffy. He’ll be thrilled.”
I reposition my arm on the back of her chair and lean in. “You enjoying that margarita?”
“It’s very good.” She takes another sip. “The perfect mix of sour and sweet.”
The last fuckin’ thing I wanna talk about is Marisol’s skills as a bartender, but I get the feeling I gotta take it slow with Martina.
“Hey, Diesel?” Chantel’s cheap, flowery perfume surrounds me, and I’m thinking I must be the unluckiest bastard on earth. “I’ve been looking for you all night.” She angles her body so her back is to Martina.
“Here I am.” I busy myself with pouring another shot of Jack.
“I can see that.” Her weirdly long, pointed nails trail along my thigh, then stroke over my cock. “I feel you’re ready for me.”
Little did she know my hard-on has nothing to do with her and everything to do with Martina.
She leans into my ear. “I have a very special gift for your birthday.”
“Ohhh yeah?” Maybe if I play along, Chantel would move on quicker.
She cups her tits under her tight bustier until her nipples pop out, offering them up like forbidden fruit. “But since my gift is so special, I was thinking we could use a little privacy.”
I shift, putting some distance between us. “I’m busy right now.”
“Busy?” She leans in, brushing her enormous tits against my arm. “With who?”
I shift again, forcing her to step back. Her eyes travel over Martina, and her lips twist like she just ate a lemon. “With her?”
Martina faces Chantel and smiles sweetly. “That’s right.” Like a slow-motion video, she tilts her margarita glass just enough so the ice-cold liquor drenches Chantel’s over-exposed tits.
Chantel jumps back and glares. “You did that on purpose.”
“What would make you say that?” Martina’s voice drips with sweet innocence.
“Bitch, you won’t get away with this,” Chantel threatens. “Just wait, you’ll get yours.”
She storms away, and I bust out laughing. “Fuckin’ perfect.”
“Just giving her what she deserves.”
“Like I said, fuckin’ perfect. That bitch needs a wake-up call every once in a while.”
“Please tell me you have better taste than that, and she’s not your girlfriend or ex-girlfriend.”
“I’m happy to report Chantel is neither my present or ex-anything.”
Martina eyes me. “I hoped you were smarter than falling for her obviousness.”
“Been around enough to know Chantel is trouble, big fuckin’ trouble.
” I keep the fact I have two exes exactly like Chantel to myself.
Bangin’ figures with smart-ass mouths who would take whatever isn’t nailed down.
Fuckin’ ridiculous, but lesson learned. I obviously made bad picks when it came to women, so since I’ve been in Tijuana, it’s been nameless, faceless sex.
Except now. Martina places her empty glass on the bar, and I realize I’m breaking two of my rules. I actually know her name, and she’s a stripper at The Tropics. Another minefield I never entered.
“Hey, Marisol, give this pretty lady another margarita and keep them coming.”
Fuck, maybe it’s time to break a few rules. After all, it is my birthday.
MARTINA
One thing for sure, Marisol makes the best margaritas. Certainly the best I’ve ever tasted.
After my confrontation with Chantel, the night speeds by at a dizzying pace, along with the pounding music and the craziness around me. All the strippers performed and are now circling the room, either giving lap dances or dragging the men off into the private rooms.
By the early morning hours, most of the ones still at The Tropics have paired off, and some of the couples are having full-on sex right on the main floor.
Seems nothing is off-limits when it comes to outlaw biker parties.
Twosomes, threesomes, male/female, male/male, and female/female, in all shapes and sizes.
I envy their freedom and their ability to close off the real world, and live in the here and now.
Something Eduardo does on a daily basis, but I’ve never been able to achieve.