“Keep your fucking leathers on! We’re comin’ out.” I haul Vanessa up, and she scrambles to put herself back together.
“I told you he’d get pissed.”
“He’s not pissed. I guarantee you.” I slip the rubber off.
“Then why is he trying to break down the door?”
“He probably wants to fuck.” I toss the condom in a nearby trash can before walking in front of her. Standing guard, I open up the door. Sure as shit, there Slash stands with a starry-eyed Kira in tow. He was probably fingering her under that short-ass skirt of hers during the last two songs.
“Scram.” He thumbs over his shoulder.
“You could’ve just sent me a text.” I zip my fly as Vanessa hightails it out of the room, scurrying back behind the bar without so much as a second look.
“What fun would that have been?” He smiles smugly.
I roll my eyes. I would be pissed at him if I didn’t find it so damn funny.
“You’re a dick,” I gripe.
“Yes, I am.” He owns the insult well. “Now get the fuck out. The next song is for us.” Ky all but throws me across the room before the door slams, and they’re gone.
Fender begins crooning “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails, and the crowd erupts. I’m sure Ky will be, too, in just a few minutes.
I make my way back to the bar and sit in almost the exact same seat I abandoned. Vanessa slides me over a cold one, and I wink at her.See, all good.
I take a hard pull, in the best motherfucking mood, then join the rowdy crowd in singing along to the explicit lyrics.
To Ky and Kira, ladies and gentlemen.
Sometimes, life is so fucking good.
3
Damon
Two days ago,the club found out the Bowman is dead. And now, here, a fair majority of us stand on a beautiful southern California day over his coffin, listening to a middle-aged priest pray for his soul.
I have lived in uncertainty for the past forty-eight hours. Before, old debts did not die with the dead. But I don’t know what the new lease terms are now.
My old man loved the ponies, and casinos, and card games. He loved them so much he raked up a mountain of debt with the wrong people. The killing kind of people. But the Bowman somehow made arrangements with the man my father owed. He paid him back little by little, and when he passed, the outstanding balance fell to me.
Ain’t that some shit?
So, I’ve been slowly but surely paying off the piled-up shit of damage my father’s addiction caused, working as many construction jobs as I can, and using whatever winnings I collect from poker night to dig myself out of debt.
I put a pretty good dent in the outstanding balance, too. Living conservatively, keeping spending costs down, and basically reducing myself to a pauper just so I can have some semblance of a future someday. But I still have a long way to go. And now that the Bowman was so suddenly ripped from this world, I have no idea where that leaves me, or what I’m supposed to do with the steaming pile of horseshit my father left behind.
No one has contacted me or threatened me since his death, so I’m hoping for the glass-full scenario, and that I’m getting off scot-free. Time can only tell.
“Do you see those fucking girls over there?” Bone grumbles in my ear. I can almost hear the saliva dripping from his words.
“Which ones?” I ask.
“The ones on the other side of the casket. The tall-ass, Kardashian-looking ones. Hot damn.”
“I call the one on the left,” Hawk chimes in a low voice.
“Fuck off. I call both.” Bone is territorial. Sometimes, I really think he’s a Neanderthal.
