9. Wombat
Chapter Nine
Wombat
Walt had the social graces of a water buffalo. Not only didn’t he perform the normal niceties of saying something like, “Hello,” or ask, “How was your day?” he always opened his conversations with evisceration.
“Get your ass to the club and kick your bitch out.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask, “Which one?” But I’d been under his thumb long enough to know anything other than, “Yes,” or “Yes sir!” would warrant a slow, torturous death by degradation and shit jobs.
“Ten minutes.” Even stating the obvious was flirting with a beatdown. It took time to lock Dumb Ass in the house and haul my carcass into that mess of mountain bones northwest of the national park. There, the Destroyers’ clubhouse did its best to blend in with the trees.
“Make it six, asshole. I’m not cleaning up your shit.”
I bet that fucker missed the days of rotary phones.
Not that he was that old, but Walter Tipton was the sort of biker who clung to traditions and cliches like, “Respect is earned, beatings are free.”
My parents were pacifists. Even my worst rebelliousness was wimpy compared to Walt’s idea of peace.
Somehow I’d made it through prospecting and had earned my patch. The last thing I wanted to do was lose it over a woman.
But I was coming in blind. Honoria had left in a snit a little over an hour ago. I doubted she knew where the club was, and if she did, why would she go there? It didn’t make sense.
Yet having a lawyer show up on club grounds would be more than enough to get Walt’s blood pressure high enough to make that one blood vessel on his forehead bulge out until his face turned beet red.
Seven minutes from that phone call, I snaked up the winding road to the barn.
There were eight vehicles in the lot. Three bikes, Walt’s black SUV, two trucks, Boot’s ugly-ass blue van with the latest set of vinyl lettering only half-peeled off the side panels, and one, boxy, inferno red Kia Soul parked next to the door.
No wonder Walt was pissed. That section was bike parking only.
And since I knew what Honoria drove, I breathed a little easier.
The door banged against the wall, announcing my arrival. I scanned the tables and bar to get the lay of the land.
Kid, the club’s newest officer, sat at the bar. He loomed over a short, golden blonde who must be the interloper.
She looked familiar.
“About fucking time.” Kid stepped away and swept his arm toward the girl.
She glanced at me and stood up.
Oh. I recognized that ass. “What are you doing here, Winter?”
“I wanted to see you.”
Honoria’s voice snarked in my head, “You’re intelligent, figure it out.
” Winter didn’t want me, she wanted a ride on my fat dick again.
I should be happy at least one woman liked it enough to come back for seconds.
Yet that was the farthest emotion from the truth of what I was feeling. “Well. You’ve seen me. Leave.”
“Cold,” Kid muttered.
I ignored him.
Winter appeared conflicted. “You don’t mean that.”
Like hell I didn’t. “Don’t tell me what I fucking mean. Leave this bar and get your piece of shit car out of our motorcycle parking zone.”
Her eyes went wide. “Oh, I didn’t know. I’ll move my car.”
I caught her by the jacket and shook her. “You will move your car right off the lot, down the road and out the gate. You are not welcome here. Ever.”
Kid’s eyes shot to mine. “Bro?” I knew he was asking because even if I didn’t want free pussy hanging around, maybe someone else would. Ashley left a void that was difficult to fill. But I’d already considered that angle. Winter was way too flaky, too clueless, and too pushy to last.
Plus, she wasn’t that good in the sack.
“Walt wants her gone. She’s gone,” I said.
“Right. Leave, and don’t come back.” Kid echoed my command and backed it up with his patented towering glare and the extra pounds he’d packed on in his quest for the perfect Dad bod.
Winter’s shoulders fell. “I was just trying to—”
“Get the fuck out.” I pointed at the door.
“Can I see you again?”
I really should have said no. I should have stuck to my guns. But Honoria’s brush-off stung. I wasn’t looking for her replacement, but I couldn’t help but say, “Give me your number. I’m going to call your phone.”
She beamed as she stored my number.
You’re intelligent, figure it out.
“And your address.” I’d need something to drown out that biting voice gnawing at my confidence.
Kid snorted.
She kissed my cheek before she drove away. The moisture chilled my skin.
I scrubbed it off and went back inside. Walt sat next to Kid at the bar. The coward finally came out of hiding.
And, like clockwork, his opening salvo struck. “I heard you caved.”
I shrugged it off. “Free pussy.” Sure, I said it, but even my tone didn’t sound excited about it. Which meant Walt saw a crack to exploit.
“You know, there’s no such thing as free pussy. Ask Kid.”
“Shut up. I’m married now.”
Walt stuck his thumb at his Sergeant at Arms. “That’s what I meant. You’re married to Sierra. Pussy ain’t free.”
Kid’s head turned toward Walt slowly until he fixed him with a glare that would make an elephant’s balls shrivel into tiny little walnuts. “Are you insulting my wife?”
Instead of answering the question directly, Walt sighed. “I don’t know what you see in her. That’s all.”
The tension in Kid’s body hadn’t eased one bit.
However, he looked away. Finding another target, he stared at me as if I had an answer.
I felt the overwhelming urge to cry out, “What? I don’t see what you like in her, either.
” But I knew, no…fully understood that he was looking for someone to use as a punching bag since Walt out-ranked him.
I put my hands in the air and said, “I’m not married, so have no clue what any criteria for marriage is.
” Hopefully, that was neutral enough that he wouldn’t string me up on the nearest coat hook and make a Wombat-sized target out of me.
Walt laughed. His barrel chest shook as he tried to keep it inside. “He’s yanking your chain, ’Bat.”
“At least I’m not insulting a woman who can disembowel a hog or human in twenty seconds or less.”
Walt winced.
Kid grinned. Then he turned to Walt. “You done yet?”
“Fuck.” He paused then blurted, “No.”
I shouldn’t have snickered.
He turned on me. “Since when do you bang chicks younger than you?”
Oh shit. “It was a lapse of judgment, I swear.”
Both of them mocked my pain. Walt chimed in with, “Hell, maybe he’ll settle down with this one and pop out a litter of little wombats.”
Over my fucking dead body. The thought of waking up next to Winter every day for the rest of my life made me queasy.
A shudder wracked through me with the memory of her sugary falsetto saying our names.
“I’m not settling down.” Another chill went through me as I imagined a herd of little Winter lookalikes with red hair. “No fucking way.”
“He’s thinking about it,” Kid joked.
“I’d rather lick the floor of the shared bathroom upstairs than go through that. Holy hell.” I meant that, too. Thank god these two set me straight. What the hell was I thinking trading numbers with Winter?
“Heard you broke her dealer’s hand.”
That was on Snake. I couldn’t exactly disobey an officer’s order, could I? “He touched my vest.”
Kid slapped the bar’s surface. “Hell yeah. New rule.”
“Don’t jizz on my wife’s floor,” Walt warned. “You know better than that.” He turned on me, “And you…”
“What?!”
“Good work. It was a clean break. Snake said it snapped like a dry stick.”
All of Lemon’s anatomy books I read were worth it for the praise.
“Let’s hope he stays mute about it. Bat’s on probation.”
I nearly groaned. A twisted combo of two memories took that opportunity to surface at the same time. The first was the way Honoria arched with her tits in the air as her whole body shook from orgasm. The second was her firing a question at me. Are you on probation?
The irony of thinking about her while Walt and Kid discussed Winter and her douchebag dealer wasn’t lost on me.
“Bat, since you have the girl’s number, find out what her boyfriend is doing.”
I stared at Walt. “Is that an order?”
“Do I have to make it one?”
Christ. “No.” I valued my place here. Walt took care of his club.
He wasn’t the type of president who shirked the work and hoarded the profits.
Everyone was rewarded here. He made certain we all stayed on his payroll of one of his businesses so we had insurance.
The retainer on the law firm he hired wasn’t cheap.
This barn was technically owned by his wife.
She’d scored it at an auction from a couple who’d tried to turn it into a wedding venue.
The club paid her rent and did renovations, bringing it closer to that vision, but in a biker hangout way.
There was even a motocross course that zigzagged through the woods surrounding the barn. As a member, I got to test it any time I wanted.
But mostly, I wasn’t scrabbling anymore. The animal rescue was a pipe dream. It barely paid the taxes on the farm. And it would never offer the quality benefits Walt’s businesses did. And, instead of selling dirt weed for pennies on the dollar, I was benefitting from the club’s primo investments.
What’s a little light spying on a chick I’d had a one-nighter with compared to all that?
Oblivious to my thoughts, Walt nodded once.
“Good. He’s pretty active with the college set.
Nickel says he turns a steady supply of X.
You might want to find out if he’s moving anything else.
We can use that info. Snake’s getting a little too old to blend in, and Nickel, well, he’s out of the game. Do you think your girlfriend knows?”
“She isn’t my girlfriend.”
“She will be.” He grinned. His eyes held a manic glow.
Would I get my ass beat for killing him or would I just end up dead?
“Don’t look at me like that. You already hit it.”
“Maybe she wasn’t good.”
Kid was not helping.
Then again, these assholes might understand my reluctance better if I told the truth.
“A dead salmon would fuck better.”
“Ho!” Walt doubled over in laughter.
Kid had the decency to only smirk. He’d been a bigger man whore than I’d ever been. He had a few of those unfortunate encounters in his heyday.
With a wheeze, Walt asked, “Why the hell did you give away your number then?”
“I’m a sad, pathetic, weak man.” ’Might as well neutralize their ammo from the start.
They laughed along with me that time.
Kid mused as we shot the shit. “You know, one of these days, you’re going to meet the right one.”
Walt slapped him on the back and jokingly replied. “She’s got to be at least a decade older. Probably a school teacher or maybe a dominatrix nun. Yeah. That’s Wombat’s type. Long legs, high heels, and a ruler. Whap!” He clapped his hands together. “You like ’em like that, right?”
Dominating? No. Self-assured, yes.
“Yeah. A ruler.” I grabbed my dick through my jeans and shook it. “Better yet, make it a tape measurer. Because I out girth you both.”
Kid whistled. “Them’s fighting words.”
Walt frowned. “I ain’t taking him up on that. You ever stand next to him when he takes a piss?”
“It’s rude to look,” Kid shot back.
“Bullshit.” Walt called his bluff. “You’ve seen plenty of dick. How many threesomes have you had? A hundred?”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“If my dick was an inch longer, I would.” Walt fired back.
“Did you know that the average taint on adult males is two inches?”
Both men turned to gape at me.
You’d think by now they’d be used to my trivia outbursts.
Kid rallied first. “Did you just say Walt has a one-inch dick?”
“I said nothing of the sort.” Walt insinuated it himself.
With that, Walt protested. “Ya gotta wrap it over your balls first, then have enough left over to insert it and make it good, you dumbasses.”
Both Kid and I shared a look of astonishment that asked, Did he really admit that he’s tried?
Not completely clueless, Walt caught on. “Damn it. You two are dickheads.”
Boots tromped down the back stairs. “Did someone call my name?”
“Thank god, I’m saved by the village idiot. Tell them you need at least seven inches to fuck yourself.”
Kid and I tried not to crack under pressure. Boots stood there, dumbfounded. His wife slipped out of his shadow and stretched her middle finger and thumb apart to measure and then curled both on themselves.
“I don’t think it works like that. Once the blood flow stiffens the—”
Boots wrapped his hand over her mouth. “Baby? They’re not being literal.”
Understanding dawned in her eyes. She nodded, and a muffled “Oh,” leaked out.
Walt leaned a bit to get a look at her around Kid’s shoulders. “Is your hand seven inches?”
Olivia shook her head. “The distance from the heel of my hand to my middle finger tip is six and three-quarters. But if I stretch it like this,” she made that gesture again, “it’s seven on the dot.”
“So, if you wrapped your fingers around Wombat’s dick—” Kid’s speculation was cut short.
“That’s it motherfucker. You and me outside.” Boots pointed at the door.
“What did I do?” Kid tried to act innocent.
“My wife is never touching another man’s dick.”
Kid shrugged. “Sierra’d do it.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Walt’s horror was evident.
Kid’s grin was evil. “Nope. Apparently, she and Mary were trying to find extra sheets for the loft in Ashley’s suite and walked in on this one jacking off.”
I grimaced. Kid sucked at keeping secrets.
Walt’s forehead tinted pink. That blood vessel swelled. “Oh yeah?”
Kid continued. “Granted, this is second-hand gossip, but Sierra said Mary swears it has to be at least six inches in diameter.”
Olivia curled her thumb toward her finger.
“Knock it off.” Boots grabbed her hand.
Walt slapped a thigh. “Well, Mary would know a six-inch girth. She gets it every night.”
“From who?” Boots asked.
“You better run,” Kid warned him.
Boots dug his grave. “He’s joking. No one’s dick is that fat. And you know how Walt gets when someone calls him that.”
“Hey, now…” Walt’s warning meant this was escalating. Someone had to shut them up right quick before it devolved to blows.
I stepped into the open and spread my arms out. “For the record, six and a quarter. And that’s before full arousal.”
“No wonder that chick came back,” Walt muttered.
In the gap behind Boots’ back, Olivia covertly curled her fingers together again.