Page 16 of Two Tricks

Picasso chuckled, leaning against the bar as I sat down on one of the stools. “Noticed that, did you? Yes, Eagle likes order and control in all things and people. He allows this to be the one area he doesn’t rule over.”

The bartender saw us and headed in our direction. He had to be in his sixties, grey hair cut short with a long grey beard that was braided. His skin was tan and wrinkled, and his tattoos had a bluish hue, showing they were almost as old as he was.

“Surprised to see you here so early in the day, Picasso. What can I do for ya?” he asked, ignoring that I was even sitting here.

I bristled at his slight. Yes, Picasso was vice president, but it’s considered good manners to say hello to someone sitting at your bar. Fuck if he’d be getting a tip from me.

“Pinky, this is Dax,” Picasso said, gesturing to me. “She is a guest of Eagle’s for the foreseeable future. I wanted to make sure that I introduced you so you can keep an eye on her if we’re not around.”

The older man looked me over with his judgment-filled eyes. This fucker better not think I’m Eagle’s flavor of the week. It happened once and never will again.

Reaching out a hand, I gave him a bright smile. “Nice to meet you, Pinky.”

He just looked at my hand but didn’t take it.

Okay, playing nice wasn’t going to work with this crusty old prick.

“Pinky, I would really hate for us to get off on the wrong foot,” I said, dropping my hand and leaning across the counter. “You see, I have this terrible impulse control problem when it comes to people I don’t like.”

“Why would I give two flying fucks about a bitch like you not liking me?”

“Dax…” Picasso tried to stop me, but I did warn the guy.

Darting my hand out, I seized Pinky’s braid and yanked downward, slamming the older man’s face into the bar. Pulling myself up on the bar, I sat next to the dazed biker and looked down at my nails like I didn’t notice every eye in the clubhouse watching.

“Now Pinky, I get that you’re old, and maybe that senile brain of yours isn’t working as quickly as it used to, so I’m going to go easy on you,” I said, swinging around so I was facing him. “Call me a bitch or any other name that is demeaning to women, and you will be eating out of a straw for the rest of your miserable life.”

“Fuck, you’re perfect for them,” Pinky said, his words muffled from trying to stop the bleeding from his nose.

Turning to face the rest of the men in the clubhouse, I raised my voice. “Hope y’all took good notes, boys. I hate repeating myself.”

Hopping off the counter, I made my way out of the barn knowing that Picasso would follow after me.

“Dax, we really need to talk about your people skills,” Picasso said when he caught up to me.

“Really? I thought that went well,” I chirped and headed off down the driveway, wanting to get a feel for the layout of the compound.

I heard him groan behind me, making me wonder how long his patience with me would last. Typically I wasn’t this volatile, but I felt like it was the right part to play in this situation. Better to have them wondering what I would do next than to be predictable. That made you vulnerable to being tricked, and that wasn’t in the plans for me.

“Where do you think you’re heading?” Picasso asked as I kept walking.

Peeking over my shoulder, I shrugged. “No idea, just felt like going for a walk. I’m feeling a little stifled at the moment. I’m not used to having someone follow me around all the time.”

Ignoring my grumbling, Picasso gestured to the land around us. “This is an old cattle ranch that we took over. So most of it is open pasture that butts up to the mountains. We own the land right up into the foothills, a little less than eight hundred acres, I think.”

A thousand acres. That’s a shit ton of land to have. I knew Wes looked into the stability of the Phantom Saints, but I hadn’t ever looked over that information. It made me think that I should start looking over anything Wes sent me about groups we were keeping our eyes on.

We wandered the property in silence for a while, just enjoying the sunshine.

“I hate to cut this short, but I have to get you back to the house,” Picasso said bringing me back to the present.

“Oh? Some secret squirrel meeting that you can’t let the enemy know about?”

“No, just church. Only members can attend.”

“Ah, so it’s that I’m a woman,” I concluded knowing that no women are allowed in their super-secret meeting they call church. “Why is it that MCs just seem to have the inability to understand it’s the twenty-first century and not the fifties? Housewives have been freed from the shackles of the kitchen and secrecy, you know.”

“We are not like that at all. If we were, I would have punished you for what you did in the clubhouse,” Picasso said defensively.