Thirteen
Kat
The Pit was packed. The band they’d booked was good, playing hard rock covers at a nearly deafening volume. I had been there an hour and was already regretting my choice of a V-neck top since I had to keep leaning over the bar to hear the drink orders. Since there were twice as many men as women in the bar, I found that most of the customer’s eyes trailed down to my cleavage when I did this.
“When’s your break, gorgeous?” A guy with a teardrop tattoo under his eye asked. He was the third one to try this.
“Sorry, buddy,” I said, handing over a beer and shot of whiskey. “No rest for the wicked.”
He looked annoyed as he took the drinks and stepped away from the bar, but I paid him no mind, just moved on to the next guy waiting to place his order.
Every Las Balas member that I’d ever met was in the bar tonight, but that was no surprise. I could smell pot in the air, but couldn’t spot the source in this crowd.
“Good thing Las Balas has paid off the fire marshall,” Winger said from beside me. He was a Prospect for Las Balas alongside my brother and seemed like a cool guy. At least he didn’t hit on me.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure we’ve exceeded max capacity here,” I agreed.
All the seats were taken, leaving only standing room. There was a space in front of the stage for a dance floor, and as I watched, a large group of women crowded the front, forming a mosh pit in front of the band while others danced. That seemed like a bad idea to me, but I had no doubt that the Las Balas enforcer could handle a brawl between a bunch of women if it came to that.
It was the burly men that concerned me.
But for now, everything seemed mostly calm. My eyes strayed to a table in the corner where my dad was sitting. I hadn’t seen him in a couple of weeks, and he’d looked mildly surprised when I showed up tonight but didn’t go out of his way to greet me. He just gave me a smile and a wave before joining the president of the club and a handful of other members in draining the three pitchers of beer that we were told to keep supplied at the table at all times.
I watched as he took a big swig from his glass, wiping the foam out of his mustache with the sleeve of his shirt. He’d always sported a full beard and mustache, and I didn’t think I’d even recognize him without it.
I had mixed emotions every time I saw my dad here, among his fellow club members. This was where he spent all his time when I was growing up and my mom was trying to raise two kids on her own. I’d barely known him back then, and now it felt more like we were acquaintances more than anything else.
So, why did I want his acknowledgment? Why did it bother me that he didn’t at least come over and say hi?
I chalked it up to a biological need for affection from a parent. I didn’t like it, but I suspected that a part of me would always wish that I had a better relationship with him. I thought that might be the reason that Jason was trying to join Las Balas in the first place, and it made me sad for him.
As the band took a break, I turned my attention back to the line of people pressed up against the bar, trying to get my attention. A group of women that were young—maybe too young to be in here, but this wasn’t the kind of place that carded—crowded around one end of the bar together and ordered five mixed drinks. I took that one since Winger was more suited to slinging beers and pouring shots. While shaking up a cocktail, I caught snippets of a conversation between two club members sitting at the bar.
“We need to figure out something big before we start losing members and assets.”
“It’s not easy. We’ve lost too much damn money in the last two years.”
“It’s the damn Outlaw Souls. They’re always up in our business, and it hurts our bottom line.”
I shook my head at the mention of the other motorcycle club. I wasn’t sure what these two men were talking about, but it couldn’t be anything good. I’d heard stories about the Outlaw Souls and how seriously they took the rivalry between the clubs. Apparently, they didn’t think La Playa was big enough for more than one motorcycle club. There were even rumors that the Outlaw Souls were responsible for the last bar owned by Las Balas burning down in the middle of the night. Nothing had been confirmed, but I knew my dad believed it. Others said it was an insurance scheme pulled off by the president of the club.
I didn’t know what was true as far as that went, but I knew that every member of Las Balas saw the Outlaw Souls as the enemy. They were vindictive and out to hurt Las Balas at every turn.
“Here you go, ladies,” I said, handing over the drinks I made. I took their money, pocketing my tip. Jason was right about that. I was making a good amount in tips.
I turned around just as Winger shoved a tray with two pitchers of beer into my hands. I looked at him questioningly as I struggled to balance the heavy drinks.
“It’s your turn,” he explained, nodding to the table where my dad sat. I sighed. This was probably the rowdiest bunch of people in the bar, and I had to navigate through the room to get there.
Holding the tray high, I weaved around groups of people dancing and tables where customers were talking loudly to each other, even though the band wasn’t currently playing. I had almost reached the table when a large hand reached out and grabbed my ass. I jolted, almost sending the tray flying, but I was able to steady myself just in time. Looking over my shoulder, I glared at the man with his hand on me.
“If you don’t take your damn hand off of me, you’re gonna get a pitcher of beer over your head.”
He pulled his hand away while I glared, but didn’t look apologetic at all.Asshole.
When I turned back around, I saw that the men at my dad’s table had seen the whole thing and were laughing their asses off. I scowled. Why couldn’t my dad care enough to be pissed when a man put his hands on me?
Maybe that wasn’t fair. I could handle myself, after all, and the guy hadn’t pushed it further. Surely, my dad would have done something if he had. I hoped.
