Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
After a long drawn breath for courage, I step forwards, prepared to enter the biker den. A couple of guys in biker leather who're smoking outside watch as I approach, but don’t say anything.
“You sure you're in the right place, girl?” The bouncer looks down at me with a curious expression. “If you searched for bars and this popped up, I gotta warn you, this might not be the atmosphere you’re looking for.”
“What? No, I know where I am. No one dared me. I um… I hang with the Outlaw Sons.”
He looks deeply skeptical. “Yeah? Who’s their prez?”
Really? He's going to quiz me at the door? “Hellfire.”
He narrows his eyes. “Give me a couple names.”
This is starting to feel like wearing a shirt with a band on it and getting accused of not being a real fan. Rude. “Um, okay. Blaze, Ocean, Bonnie, Paige…”
He throws his head back and laughs. “Fine, fine. I get your point. Go on in.”
The heady scents of leather and beer wash over me. The floor is worn hardwood, the walls dark and decorated with movie posters and motorcycle paraphernalia. A smoky haze hangs over everything like a cloud. Girls dressed in barely anything are hanging off the arms of grizzled bikers, and the volume of the rock music flowing from the speakers is just on the right side of uncomfortable. It's packed, even on a Wednesday. If this is what it's like now, I can't imagine Friday night.
I get a sucking feeling in my chest that I’m way out of my element and should probably have listened to Grace. But I can't just go home, not without at least getting a drink. I decide to order a beer and stay long enough to drink it and people watch. I weave my way through the crowd until I find the bar and climb up on one of the stools. Sitting gives me a better view of what's going on, but only a bit. Bike clubs must aim to recruit all the guys who don’t make it pro in basketball and football.
A few people glance at me, but so far it’s… fine? Just like at the club party, I would have to really stand out for people to pay much attention. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m not about to have a nip slip. I probably could have gone slightly less modest without worrying.
Have my guys been here? I’d be surprised if they haven’t. I actually hadn’t thought about the possibility that they could be here. That I could have walked in to find them with girls hanging off of them, or worse. The thought makes me growly, even though I’m here on my own without them.
No, I'm not thinking about them. Not right now. That’s the whole point.
“So can I get you something or are you waiting on someone to buy you a drink? Might want to get a little more proactive if that’s the case. You’re dressed more like an old lady than someone interested in landing herself a man.” The gruff voice belongs to the bartender, a muscular man wearing a denim vest over a white T-shirt that's stretched to the limits around his big biceps. His head is shaved bald and polished to a shine. A gold earring decorates one ear, and tattoos cover his exposed arms and slither up around his neck. “Hello? Earth to whoever the fuck you are.”
I blink, caught off guard. “Sorry, I want a beer, please.”
“Please.” He scoffs, looking skeptical. “Any preference?”
“Whatever’s the most popular.”
He narrows his eyes. “What’s most popular is what’s cheapest. I’m going to pick for you.”
“Oh, um, okay?” Now I’m glad I didn’t ask what kind of wine they have.
“You meeting someone?” he asks as he pours a pale golden beer from a tap into a tall glass.
“If not, she just did,” a deep voice says from behind. “What's a sweet girl like you doing at a place like this?” A big guy drops into the stool next to me, beer glass in one hand and the other resting on his belt. His beard is thick and red, and his right ear has spiky studs in it. His open leather vest has a patch over the left breast that says, “Blitz.”
He's handsome. Built like a professional athlete, colorful ink covering his arms, ticks all the biker boxes, but I don't feel even a hint of thrill. He just makes me wonder where Blackout, Skyhigh and Dragon are. I flash Blitz a smile to be friendly. “I’m Willow.”
“Nice to meet you, sweetheart. This is a rough place.” Putting his elbow on the bar, he leans in closer, just far enough into my personal space to make me want to back up a little. “Pretty girl like you probably shouldn't be alone in here.”
He's not being aggressive, exactly. Not even pushy, but there's an implication there that I find uncomfortable. It can be so hard to tell whether someone's being earnest or is coming at you with ulterior motives. “Thanks, but I think I’ll be okay.” I take a big gulp from my beer, willing it to go faster.