They cackled together, and I found myself smiling.These women were the backbone of the clubs, as dangerous as their men and twice as clever.Most had seen more blood and bandaged more bullet wounds than combat medics.
"Wren!Get your skinny ass over here," called Lacey, Ghost's on-again-off-again steady lay.Currently on, from the proprietary way she waved me over.Not cool, but also not the time to cause a ruckus.I snagged my refilled whiskey from the returning prospect and joined the women.
"Who did your hair, girl?That purple's fucking gorgeous," Lacey said, reaching out to touch a strand.
"Did it myself.Figured if I had to wear a dress, I'd balance it out with some proper color."
Lacey nodded approvingly."Ghost saved himself a hell of a daughter when he found you."Of course, she had to go there.Lacey must be on my dad’s shit list if she was complimenting me.
A few of the women glanced at me, obviously wondering how I’d react.Yeah.She was definitely on the way out for good this time.Just as well.She was a skank.
Most of the women here knew pieces of my story, how Ghost had found me five years ago, a seventeen-year-old runaway with fractured ribs and worse memories.How he'd killed the men who hurt me, then brought me home like a stray cat he couldn't leave in the rain.
"Speaking of," said a woman with steel-gray hair I recognized from the Iron Horses, "how's he handling you turning into a grown woman?Nearly took Mikey's head off last month for looking at you too long."
I snorted."Ghost knows I can handle myself."
"That's not what I asked," she said with a knowing look.
I shrugged, uncomfortable with the direction."He trusts me to make my own mistakes."
"And bury your own bodies?"Lacey asked with a wink.I came close to vomiting a little in my mouth.
"He taught me where the shovel is."I raised my glass in a toast, and they all laughed.
The music changed, the bass thumping harder as more people filtered in.The Valentine's Ball was in full swing now, the strange mix of romance and danger that defined everything about club life.I belonged here, among these people who lived by their own rules.Who'd taken in a broken girl and shown her how to be strong instead.
But as I glanced around the transformed bar, at the tough-as-nails women proudly adjusting their rose-and-barbed-wire creations, at the men who pretended to hate it while secretly enjoying the one night a year when everyone set aside daily grievances and feuds, I felt the familiar restlessness creep under my skin.I belonged here, but sometimes I wondered if belonging was enough.
I ordered another whiskey, drumming my fingers against the spotless bar top while the bartender poured.Despite how the place looked unkempt and reeked of smoke and alcohol, the bar was always spotless.It was the only reason most of the women drank anything at all.Myself included.
The crowd had thickened, bodies pressing together in the smoky haze, but I couldn't shake the prickling sensation between my shoulder blades.Someone was watching me.Not the usual appreciative glances my tight dress invited, but something more deliberate, more focused.I turned slowly, scanning the room until I caught him, a man leaning against the far wall, half-hidden in shadow but definitely staring in my direction.I didn't recognize him, which made him either new blood or from one of the visiting clubs who didn’t normally hang here.
Our eyes locked for a moment.He didn't look away like most would when caught staring.Just held my gaze steady, his expression unreadable in the dim light.I was the one who broke contact, deliberately turning my back to him as I accepted my drink.
But my curiosity got the better of me.I couldn't resist taking another look.This time I turned my body fully, leaning casually against the bar so I could study him properly.He was tall, six-foot-something with broad shoulders that filled out his plain black T-shirt in a way that made my mouth go dry.No colors, which was interesting at a gathering like this.Just dark jeans, motorcycle boots, and that shirt that stretched across what had to be a workout routine I'd pay good money to witness.You know.With his shirt off.His face was all sharp angles, a strong jaw shadowed with stubble, high cheekbones, and a straight nose that looked like it might have been broken once or twice.
But it was his eyes that really got me.Even from across the room, I could feel their intensity.Dark and watchful, taking in everything while giving away nothing.The kind of eyes that had seen shit—real shit—not just the everyday violence of club life.His dark hair was cut short on the sides but longer on top, pushed back like he'd run his fingers through it.
He wasn't conventionally handsome.No, this guy was dangerous looking in a way that made something low in my belly tighten.Like a predator who’d focused on his prey and intended on devouring her.
"That's three," the bartender commented.
"You counting my drinks now, Rick?"
He shrugged."Ghost asked me to keep an eye out."
I rolled my eyes and pulled out my phone, checking for messages though I knew there wouldn't be any.Ghost would be here when he got here.Pocketing the phone again, I circled my finger around the rim of my glass, then tapped my foot against the bar rail, unable to settle.
The jukebox switched to "Sweet Child O' Mine," and normally I'd be on the makeshift dance floor with some of the other club girls — or a guy who didn’t know my father — but tonight I couldn't find the energy.I stood instead, walking a slow circle around the bar, nodding at familiar faces.
I ended up sitting near the pool tables, watching a game without really seeing it.I played with my empty shot glass, turning it around and around.
"Twitchy tonight, kitten."
The voice belonged to Bull, an old-timer with Bound in Blood who'd been riding since before I was born.His leather cut was faded to a soft charcoal, patches from a dozen runs fraying at the edges, even as his name patch and his club patches were sharp and showed no signs of wear.
"Just restless," I said, setting down the glass."Too many familiar faces who are afraid of my dad."
