4
Chance
It’s Sunday night, ten PM, and I’m growing more and more restlessly aware that nine AM, Monday morning—the hour I’ll have to face Veronica again—is fast approaching. I don’t know what it is about her that got so stuck under my skin and in my mind, because I legit haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since Friday. She’s just an annoying, uptight woman who thinks I’m the worst of the worst, so what?
After Harper’s performance on Friday, we all got together for a long overdue family celebration. We made a night of it, getting so drunk I think I’m still feeling it now, two days later. But even that wasn’t enough to get Veronica out of my mind. I don’t know if I want to fuck her or never see her again, and it’s really messing with my mind.
But Veronica and all that isn’t the only reason why I’m so restless and anxious right now.
I’m sitting on the rocky edge of a hill with Hunter, passing a joint, the smell of which does not drown out the deep, tangy scent of the thick redwood forest behind our backs and pretty much all around us. The weed isn’t doing much to take the edge off my anxiety.
The main source of that anxiety is the flashing neon signs of the strip club along a lonely stretch of road right in the valley this hill overlooks, and the suggestion I’m sure Hunter is about to make. The place is lit up like a damn Christmas tree, XXXs and naked girls badly drawn using of tube lights flashing everywhere. The parking lot beside it is nearly empty—just a couple of bikes and some trucks. Maybe that’s because it’s Sunday night, but more likely it’s because the place is an absolute dump.
The strip club also happens to belong to the Riders, the one MC both Hunter and I are supposed to be steering well clear of these days.
“Let’s go get a drink down there,” Hunter suggests as he hands me the joint, which is basically just a roach now.
I scoff, even though I expected the question.
“Come on, man, not two hours ago Cross told us to stay the fuck away from the Riders,” I say, then take the last drag of the joint, burning my fingers in the process. “She’s not worth it.”
The she I’m talking about is Trixie, a dancer with extras that works down there. Last I heard, she was actually a Horned Riders MC club slut, which is what they call their club girls. But back when Hunter fell in love with her, she was a just a girl all the way down on her luck and being fostered by Doc and his wife Anne.
She even worked for Anne at the halfway house she runs for abused women, but didn’t stay long, and ended up running away with about five grand she stole from the non-profit. But she was there long enough for Hunter to form this lasting obsession with her that he hasn’t been able to shake for years. They have no chance. None at all. Both of them know it. But she remains his only vice in this world.
“She’s the one who told me what you and Jax were up to with those girl scouts,” he says edgily. “That’s why I was able to stop you in time.”
I could say I never asked him to do that. Or her for that matter. But he sounds so damn sad, I don’t want to bring up that dumb argument again. All told, I am glad I’m sitting out here tonight, under the starry sky and not locked up in a cell surrounded by thick concrete walls.
He leaps to his feet with a fire and agility his lethargic voice didn’t betray. “Let’s go. I just want to see if she’s all right.”
“If there’s one thing I’m certain about with Trixie is that she can take care of herself,” I say and take my time getting to my feet. Because of course I’m going with him. He’s my brother. I’ll always have his back, even when I think he’s making the dumbest mistake of his life. If I can’t stop him, I might as well join him.
“You know she’ll just tell you to leave,” I say as I follow him to our bikes. “She always does.”
Hunter straddles his bike and grins at me. “Not always. But seriously, we’ll be in and out tonight. She’s in a bad place and I haven’t checked on her in a while.”
In this case, a while is probably measured in days, not anything as long as weeks or months, but I refrain from saying that. He really has it bad for her. But if he’s not gonna get more proactive in getting over her he’s never gonna get over her. And he should. She’s bad news any way you look at it. If he’s ever gonna take over the MC after his father, he’s not gonna do it with a strung out ex-whore by his side, for one thing. Or one that stole from the club. But he knows all that already, and I don’t think he’d be receptive to hearing it all again tonight, so I don’t say it. Instead I just follow his lead, rev up my bike and drive after him down the winding road the will lead us to the strip club.
The place is so badly insulated and the music inside so loud, I can hear it over the rumble of our bikes as we approach. And by the time we park near the entrance, my legs are actually stiff with the reluctance to enter the building, or shack, more like.
“This doesn’t feel right, Hunter,” I tell him.
It’s the best I can do to describe my sudden aversion to going inside, since I can’t even put my finger on what exactly is causing it.
“Stop bitching,” he says and starts toward the door. “We’ll just pop in for a drink. Nothing’s gonna happen to us.”
I don’t follow right away. Instead I take the time to get my gun from my saddle bags and stick a knife into my boot. I hope Hunter is armed too. He probably is since he always thinks things through. Except where Trixie is concerned.
Smoke hangs low in the main room of the strip club that has no windows, and the only real source of light is the one illuminating the busty woman swirling around the pole. She’s well past her prime where age is concerned, and she looks bored more than anything else, but she has the kind of skills on the pole that only come with experience. The couple of guys in flannel shirts, dirty jeans and dirtier ball caps watching her look just as bored.
My eyes take some time to adjust to the dimness after the carnival-like lights display outside, and when they do, I wish they hadn’t.
The darkness hides at least five bikers, all of them mostly likely Horned Riders MC members. They’re all standing in the shadows about the place and all of them are watching us like hyaenas as we make our way to the counter. They really do blame us for getting their president’s son arrested, just like Cross warned us, that much is clear, but I doubt these five losers are actually gonna do anything about it. Maybe they’ll bark a few insults at us, but I can ignore those.
A scantily clad, glassy-eyed woman glides towards us as we reach the counter and asks what we’re having.
Hunter doesn’t notice her at all. He only has eyes for the curvy woman swaying his way in huge platform shoes from the darkness at the other end of the room. She’s wearing a shimmering bikini top that barely covers her nipples and a matching thong bottom that barely covers the rest. The sequins or whatever the outfit is covered with seem to catch all the light in the room, as do her bright green eyes. She’s wearing a raven black wig today, but her real hair color is golden blonde. Trixie is a breathtakingly beautiful woman, I’ll give Hunter that. But that’s where my understanding of what he sees in her ends. Her eyes are glassy despite being brilliantly bright and I’m sure she’s high. Trixie’s not just a whore and a thief, she’s a hopeless drug addict too.