Cara was very tiny and had wavy blonde hair. Her eyelids were covered in glitter, and her voice was high-pitched and bubbly. She was slightly more covered than Dolly, but her outfit was still something out of a TV show. A Barbie-pink tube top with a pleated miniskirt that just barely covered her lady bits.
“Nice to meet you, Cara. I’m Fiona,” I replied. Everyone else seemed to watch silently, their gazes ping-ponging between Cara, Dolly, and me.
“So, Phoebe, what’s your deal? This doesn’t really seem like your scene,” Dolly asked, still pressed up against Crow. I could see Charlie rearing up to defend me, but knew all too well that having someone else fight my battles wouldn’t fix anything.
“It’s Fiona. I’m here because I was invited. Are you part of the club girls? Am I allowed to call you that, or do you prefer a different term?” I asked, looking between Cara and Dolly.
“We’re both club girls! I just joined, but Dolly’s been here the longest,” Cara answered cheerfully.
“What’s that like? What exactly do you guys do? Like, during the day when the guys are at work,” I asked, genuinely curious about how the dynamic worked.
“We’re here to serve the Brothers and the club. If the guys are busy, then we get some rest or clean up and whatever until we’re needed,” Dolly answered, her back straightening.
“Do you have other jobs? What about health care? Do you have to pay rent to live here? How do you get birth control and condoms and all that?” I asked as even more questions popped into my head.
“We always wrap it,” Crow declared. I nodded, but couldn’t help but think it was risky to rely so heavily on that.
“What are these stupid questions anyway?” Dolly snapped.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Sex work is real work. I’m glad you were able to find the club so you can do it in a safe environment.”
“We’re not just here to fuck. Jesus, what is with you? We cook and clean, too. Some of the girls work for different MC businesses. We do our part to earn our keep. We’re as much a part of the club as anyone else,” Dolly snapped.
The room got quieter, and from the corner of my eye, I could see Guard and Bash making their way over to our group. I looked around the clubhouse, noting the amount of dirty cups, overflowing ashtrays, and condom wrappers littering the room. It was neater than I had been expecting, but it was nowhere near what I would callclean.
“Clean, like this room? Or do you only clean when it comes to semen-specific messes? I imagine it would take quite a bit of work to clean up after a bukkake session. Speaking of, I see some stubborn stains on the rug. Have you tried a vinegar solution?” Match, who was sipping his beer, did a literal spit take as Dolly gasped in offense.
Charlie and Scythe buckled over in laughter as a warm hand cupped the back of my neck. I looked up to see Bash staring down at me.
“Baby, really?” he asked.
“What? I’ve always wanted to use the word bukkake, and I believe I used it properly. Right, Dolly?” I asked, looking at herstraight on, waiting to see how she reacted. But I was disrupted when a laughing Bash lifted me up for a kiss.
This time, when I looked up, all eyes were on me in a different way. Dolly looked pissed, and Crow looked put out, but it was Guard who held my attention. He had a proud grin on his face and lifted his beer to me in a silent salute. I smiled back at him, then relaxed my body, letting myself enjoy Bash’s embrace.
Bash
When I imagined Fiona at the clubhouse, the exact last thing I expected was to walk into a conversation she was leading about bukkake. In her own way, she managed to shut down any further attacks Dolly could launch, and the other club girls within listening distance were enjoying the show. I was too far away to hear the conversation when Dolly and Cara had first joined, but I was on alert, and could tell by Charlie’s body language that drama was on the horizon.
Fiona clearly didn’t take the bait when Dolly first tried her luck, and that seemed to throw the club girl off. It was just further downhill from there. Somehow, she managed to insult anyone who came at her in the most polite manner. It was a goddamn art form and sexy as hell.
I joined the group, sitting on the couch and pulling Fee down next to me with my arm around her. Scythe, who was now seated adjacent to us, passed a beer over to her. With his arm extended, there was a collective gasp when Fiona grabbed his wrist instead of the beer. She turned his arm to the side to study his tattoos. Noticing the silence, Fee dropped his hand, looking contrite before pointing to the grim reaper inked on Scythe’s forearm.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to grab you. I was just looking at your tattoo. Is that the Yellow King?” she asked, causing Crow to snort and roll his eyes.
A quick look of shock passed over Scythe’s face before he masked it. He focused his obsidian gaze—the look that had most grown men pissing themselves—fully on Fiona. Nothing in her body language or expression shifted as she waited to hear what he had to say. After a beat, Scythe finally spoke, his tone ominous.
“If death is welcome…”
“Let him seek it there,” Fiona finished.
Scythe’s face transformed, an unnatural expression taking over as he studied Fee with approval. With shock, I realized he was smiling at her. Looking at his arm, it hit me that in the two decades I had known him, I had never thought to ask about his tattoos. I had always assumed it was the Grim Reaper, matching his road name. Scythe and I had grown up together, but he was never big on talking. Fee finally took the beer from him and sat back in her seat. I put my arm around her, pulling her in tightly.
“I still don’t get it,” Dolly stated petulantly.
“That’s probably because you can’t read,” Scythe replied, and Fiona burst into giggles next to me. He winked at Fee, and once again, I found myself completely baffled by the woman.
The next few hours were some of the most enjoyable times I’d spent at the clubhouse recently. After just a minute or two of speaking with her, all of the guys were enamored with Fiona. Crow was the only one acting off, but that was sort of the norm for him.
