There were women, too. They were a little more what I expected. Tight jeans. Tank tops without bras. Evening makeup at noon. Jersey hair. The general vibe varied from "wouldn't look out of place on a corner of 47th" to "could work at a really nice strip club."
The men noticed me, but not in the way I might expect from a roomful of men. Just curiosity, with the occasional nod or smile before turning back to whatever they'd been doing. The women didn't nod and definitely did not smile. I felt like a new lioness walking into a pride, as the others discreetly sharpened their claws. One of the youngest--a blonde at the "really nice strip club" end of the spectrum--even got to her feet, before an older woman tugged her down. As the blonde sat, her gaze went to Ricky, but he wasn't paying attention.
"We'll wait for Gabriel here," he said, pulling out a bar stool for me. "What'll you have?"
"Beer."
He leaned over the bar and plucked a can from a bucket of ice. "Bud okay?"
"Sure."
To be honest, I can't remember the last time I drank beer, and I've probably never had one that didn't come from a microbrewery. But when flirting with a biker, it didn't seem helpful to admit that.
"I'm sure your situation isn't a topic you like discussing with strangers," Ricky said. "But I just want to say that you were smart to go with Gabriel. I'm guessing he's getting you some money, as he should. You got shafted. Gabriel will fix it."
"He's actually handling other things for me."
Ricky looked surprised.
"Having money is nice," I said. "Having money is not everything."
He leaned over and mock-whispered, "Don't say that too loudly in here."
I smiled and shook my head. "I did say having it is nice. It's just better if you feel you've earned it."
He watched me for a second, then nodded. "Agreed." He took a long drink from his beer.
"Who's your friend, Ricky?"
It was the blonde who'd stood earlier. Up close, I could see past the makeup and realized she was younger than I thought. Maybe twenty. Maybe not even that.
"A client of Gabriel's," Ricky said.
"Gabriel's old lady? You let her in here?"
Ricky's gaze cooled. "I said client. One, do you think I'd be having a beer with Gabriel's girl? Two, I can let the pope in here if I want, Lily."
The bearded biker from earlier looked up from the couch where he'd planted himself. "If you read the papers, Lily-girl, you'd know who she is and you'd keep your mouth shut."
"All right," Ricky said. "That's enough--"
"Shit," one of the men with a laptop said. "She's the Larsen girl. Gabriel repped her mom, didn't he?"
"Larsen?" someone piped in. "You mean the serial killers?"
Lily stared at me like I'd crawled out of the toilet. "Your parents are those freaks?"
Ricky's look made her inch back. "Meribeth? Come get your daughter."
The older woman had been standing since Lily approached us. Now she hurried over and grasped the girl's arm. "I'm sorry, Ricky. She had a couple before she got here."
"Yeah? Well, considering she's eighteen and it's barely noon, I'd say you have a problem there."
The woman scuttled off with her daughter.
Ricky raised his voice a notch. "For anyone who didn't catch that, this is Olivia. She's Gabriel's client, and I invited her in."
He didn't say, "Does anyone have a problem with that?" His tone didn't even imply it. But there was steel in his gaze. Murmurs passed through the room, welcomes for me, and assurances to Ricky that everyone was cool with it. A room full of bikers--most of them older and bigger than Ricky--but when he talked, they listened. Interesting.