Shooter handed her the black helmet he’d had customized with an Old English J in white. Placing it on her head, he tightened the chinstrap, and she climbed behind him like a pro. She’d come to enjoy riding bitch.
“Anything I need to know before we get there?” she asked.
“Same as usual—any problems, let me know. I’m going to introduce you to some old ladies. They’ll look out for you. I think you’ll like Prez’s old lady, Boston. She’s a firecracker but fair and down to earth unless you rile her up. Which I can’t see you doing.”
“Thanks?” she queried. He laughed and faced forward. Clutching his waist, she leaned in against his back as he pulled out of the driveway and onto the road. Closing her eyes, she enjoyed the wind in her face as it blew her hair out behind her.
With Shooter,
the normal things didn’t apply. He liked her dressed up the same way he did dressed down, just out of bed, sweaty from the gym. When there was no need to put on airs or live through the pretend-to–be-perfect phase most couples did, you got to the heart of things in a direct manner.
They pulled up to the gated facility and her mouth became a desert. The scantily clad women entering the building ahead of her made her swallow hard. Someone ran down to open the gate and Shooter pulled in, parking his bike a few yards down from the others. Once the kickstand was lowered, he moved off and offered his hand. She took it and pursed her lips.
“Don’t be nervous, baby. They’ve been looking forward to meeting the woman who tamed me.”
She snorted. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“That’s because you’re smart.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and guided her into the large warehouse-like building. Loud rock and roll spilled from the inside as they approached the entryway. Shooter opened the door and she preceded him inside.
Bodies filled every available space. Pool tables lined the far back corner of the large room and a bar took up one wall. Her gaze darted around as she attempted to take it all in. Men clad in everything from leather pants to worn denim in familiar, black vests with the Lords emblem on it filled the space. Women in booty shorts, tiny skirts and suggestive dresses hung on their arms, against the bar and lounged on couches.
A glance down at her outfit made her want to go back and rethink her choice. Shooter hugged her to him.
“I’m going to introduce you to a few people.”
Nodding, she leaned into him, trying to avoid bumping others in the crowded area. Imaginary daggers pricked her as women narrowed their eyes and followed her progression. Were these all women Shooter had slept with?
Her stomach ached. She couldn’t measure up to these twiggy frames. Sweeping the crowd again, she noted the absence of African Americans. There was a vest-less man in the back and a sizeable number of brown-skinned men and women she thought might be of Spanish decent.
“Hey. Is this the old lady?” someone with a loud voice boomed. Jumping slightly, she looked up and grinned at the familiar face. The large, burly man with a thick, full beard, laughing blue eyes and hands the size of hams patted Shooter on the shoulder.
“You actually made an honest man out of the fucker. Congrats to both of you. I thought for a minute Shooter was making that up, eh.” He grinned, and his brilliant whites chased away the scary impression she’d received the first time she met him.
“Nice to see you again, Moose.” Unable to resist his charisma, she beamed.
“You guys want a drink?”
“Hell, yeah.” Shooter nodded. She could see how at home he was here, though his demeanor remained the same.
“Please,” she added.
“Come on. Let’s hit the bar.”
Lined up at the bar a few minutes later they were greeted by a porcelain-skinned redhead.
“Hey, Red, can I get a beer?”
“Sure, Moose.” Leaning forward to show off the swell of her obviously inflated breasts, she leered at Shooter. “And what can I get for you?”
Narrowing her eyes, Juliette clenched her teeth. The blatant offer scraped her nerves raw. The muscle in her cheek ticked.
“A beer’s fine and,” Shooter turned to Juliette, “what’ll you have, baby?”
This bitch’s heart on a platter. She’d never been catty or aggressive but she knew in order to be in his world she’d have to learn.
“Rum and Coke.”
“And a rum and Coke, Red.”