“I might have, but I don’t remember shit,” I answer. Damara makes a noise of scoffing disbelief. She doesn’t have to believe me for what I’m saying to be true.
“You didn’t forget Owen and Vickie’s blow out,” Wyatt says. “Even the strongest drug couldn’t wipe that out.”
If my cum splattered across Damara’s thighs weren’t terrifying enough evidence that what happened to us both last night involved criminal intervention, the thought of forgetting an argument that shook up Wyatt Shaw fills me with greater concern.
“Who was I talking to when they fought?” I ask him, halfway scared of exposing even more of my suddenly vacated memories.
“I was a little preoccupied getting them not to kill each other,” Wyatt replies judgmentally, with the unhappy tone of a man constantly plagued by outlaw motorcycle club problems that a man approaching his forties might want to avoid in favor of more time fishing, fixing bikes and building campfires by the lake.
“Seems like it worked well enough,” I reply to him. “The clubhouse is pretty much empty.”
“The fight escalated. Owen went off to Reno to cool down. Texted Vickie that he put down $25,000 on a poker game. Next thing you know, he’s calling again down another $15,000. She’sfucking hysterical. Ethan promises to go sort it out which sets Amanda off…”
I can imagine how the rest of the night went now. Amanda sets off Keyshawn, who sets off Deacon. That might aggravate either Tanner or Oske, hard to say which. Maybe even Ruger Blackwood. Once a fight involves a Blackwood, the escalation becomes inevitable.
Wyatt allows the rest of the story to unfold and while I am too wrapped up in my own shit to pay attention to the details, my confusion only heightens.
If everyone in the club got roped into this massive fight, who drugged me and who the hell would drug Damara?
“Where were Gideon and Tamiya through all this?”
“They left early,” Wyatt says. “Went to pick up some Micky D’s and never came back. You know how it gets with them.”
I don’t know how it gets with them, but I can only presume that they spend most of their time either fucking or fighting like the rest of the couples in the club. Joslin and Ryder don’t fight much and neither do Quin and Tanner. Their simple and quiet devotion to each other excludes them from involvement in this drugging situation but…
Maybe they know something.
“Did everything calm down eventually?”
“No,” Wyatt snarls. “I’m out looking for Oske and her brothers. They disappeared last night.”
Oske. The pit in my stomach slowly transforms into a dark, grabbing void. I don’t want to believe that Oske drugged me, even if she had the opportunity to do so and certainly pouredoneof the last drinks I remember. Although I remember more.
“What happened to them?”
“If I knew, I would have her right back where I want her,” Wyatt growls. “Hawk told me you were off with a lady friend about when we went out to Reno after Owen. Everybody left the clubhouse except you, that lady friend, Oske and her brothers. If you remember anything suspicious at all, I need to know.”
My memories are hazy and hard to reach. I didn’t show up to the club meeting to fuss over the details of our activities. I need new hands to break ground on a project out in Santa Monica, and I wanted to vote on changing the club rules to abolish the racial specifications we originally kept.
“Understood,” I mutter. “I can’t tell you how much I remember from last night, to be honest.”
I get blackout drunk more than I should for a man my age. But life can be stressful and some days, I just want to black out. How much of last night can I blame on the liquor?
I wonder how much Damara remembers, but I worry that she might bring up something embarrassing that we don’t have time to get into an argument about. Bringing up simple subjects with women often leads to arguments. I glance over at her, wondering if she also suspects Oske. Does she remember that drink at the bar?
I was so fucking nervous complimenting her hair. I can’t believe I fucked Damara and don’t remember a damned thing about it. My gut reaction is to keep the whole thing a secret. I don’t want anyone to find out. A baby would change that.
Wyatt can almost read my mind and he doesn’t let the silence between us fly.
“So you remember nothing?”
“Not a thing.”
“What about your… lady friend?” He asks. “I don’t know any of the biker chicks that come around anymore.”
She’s not a biker chick, she’s a black woman with pink hair who scares the fuck out of me a little bit but has an ass thicker than a goddamn double wide.
“She’s not a biker chick.”
