His gaze swings to me. “That happen outside of a movie?”
I nod. “Not a pillow exactly, but Flint had been dividing his attention between a couple of sisters at a meet-up down in Missouri. It was a week long and he just figured that because it was a meet-up, there was no point in making a choice. Anyway, he’d spent too long with one of them, so at the end of the week she stuck a dead rabbit in one of his saddlebags.”
Abel winces. “I’ll remember to stay away from sisters.”
“And the underage. Where are all the older members?”
“Junior said that most of his dad’s friends have drifted away in the last year. There’s only a couple members in their thirties.” He gestures an elbow toward a stocky male with a long beard and a big pot belly. “Pig over there is about thirty-five and been with Misery for twelve years.” Pig has a girl on his lap that can’t be more than sixteen. My stomach starts to hurt.
“And the other one?”
“Moose, but he’s not here.”
“Oh is Moose the one we saw at the bar?”
Abel nods. “That’s right. He’s been with the club for over a decade. Thought he should’ve been president but none of the old guys would back him and most of the young guys like Junior.”
I make a face. “Junior’s a terrible road name.”
“And Pig is much better?”
Before I can answer, a girl about my age stops beside me. “Hey, cool vest.”
She’s punked out in a black t-shirt, tutu, black tights that are ripped around the thigh, and motorcycle boots. It’s a good look but not one I’m confident enough to carry out.
“Thanks, cute skirt.”
“Like it?” she twirls and the layers of tulle flare out and then fall back again. “I made it myself.”
“Really? that’s amazing.”
“I’m going to get a drink. What do you want?” Abel asks, clearly not interested in what he perceives will be a discussion about clothes.
“Beer is fine.”
“Oh I can get you something better,” the tutu skirted girl says. “My man brought Mike’s Hard Lemonade for me.”
Abel shakes his head and I recall Grant’s earlier warning. “Nah, beer is fine for me.”
“Hey, grab a Lemonade from Dozer okay? He’s the guy with the purple mohawk and the Misery leather vest.”
Abel’s face changes slightly from moderate tolerance to horror but I’m not sure if it’s because she refers to the vaunted cut as a vest or that someone with a purple mohawk is wearing one.
“Go on,” I urge him before he says something that offends this new girl. “I’ll stand right here.”
“Alright,” he replies reluctantly, but moves off toward the kitchen.
“So over protective…boyfriend?” the girl asks. “I’m Laurel by the way. Dozer is my man. Short for bulldozer because he’s built like a frickin’ big-ass tank.”
She holds her hands about a foot apart which I hope refers to his length and not his girth. “I’m Chelsea.”
“What’s your vest say?” She places a hand on my shoulder to turn me around. I shift so she can see the back.
“Death Lords MC.” Despite claiming Dozer as her man, she doesn’t wear a corresponding leather so their relationship can’t be that serious. “Wrecker.”
“Wait, does that patch say ‘Property of?’” Laurel gasps.
Either there are no old ladies attached to the Misery biker club or this whole group is cobbled together by shoelaces and wet, flimsy newspaper. “Yeah. I’m Wrecker’s old lady,” I tell her.
“Here’s your lemonade babe.” The purple mohawk guy interrupts us, shoving a bottle into Laurel’s hands. She reaches up and kisses his cheek in gratitude. Dozer’s arm comes around her automatically, as if they’ve been together for a long time. “You’re new here.”
“I am.”
“Her vest has her man’s MC name on it. Why can’t I get one of those?” Laurel pouts. Her hand pats Dozer’s own leathers.
His eyes cut to mine with a hard warning. “We don’t do that here,” is the explanation he gives her. Then he turns to me and lifts a lock of my hair with hand holding his own beer bottle. “Like your socks. You wearing anything under that skirt?”
I jerk away, gaping at him. Doesn’t he have any respect for Wrecker’s cut? “None of your business.”
Laurel’s mouth gets tight but she doesn’t protest.
“Yeah? My cut says differently. This here’s Misery property and I’m a Misery MC.” Dozer tips his head back and swallows some of his beer.
“And I’m not interested.”
“Problem?” Abel arrives.
“Nothing I can’t handle.” I say and take the beer from his hands, grateful to hold something so I don’t slap Dozer and cause an incident.
“She yours?” Dozer asks.
“We’re visiting,” Abel replies.
Dozer snaps his fingers. “The loaners from the Death Lords come to whip us into sh
ape.” He laughs. “If this is the type of goodie we’re offered, I’m totally down with joining your crew.”
Abel’s lip curls at Dozer’s easily changing loyalty.
“I’m going to want a taste of you later,” Dozer leans forward with Laurel still clinging to him.
“Taste of what?” Wrecker appears at my back. His business must be done.
Dozer has no gut instincts or any instincts because he doesn’t heed the warning in Wrecker’s voice. “Taste of that hot snatch you brought with you.”
Abel straightens from the wall and Wrecker’s hand comes to rest on the back of my neck. I can feel the tension in his fingers. “I don’t think we met yet because if we had, you’d know better than to talk about Chelsea that way.”
“Bro, no offense.” Chin lift. “Pussy’s pussy though.”
“Wait. Wrecker and Chelsea?” Laurel pipes up. “You’re the sister, aren’t you?”
Heat rushes up and I can feel it pound in my temple. “Step,” I say shortly. “Stepsister.”
“But you two were raised together, right? I mean, that’s kind of wrong. What are we, in Missouri?” She makes a banjo noise—a bad one.
“Junior?” Abel mutters in an undertone.
Wrecker nods. Junior knew of our situation and told his club brothers and this one, this loose lipped Dozer, told the girl that he didn’t think was worthy of wearing his patch.
Very deliberately, Wrecker lifts the drink out of my hands and gives it to Abel. “Hold this, will you?”
Dozer’s dormant instincts must rattle at this because he turns a little, trying to push Laurel toward a different group in the room. “Come on, Laurel.”
She pulls away, maybe angry that Dozer hit on me right in front of her. “Do you do the father too? Is it some weird incestual thing with the Death Lords? Like I’ve heard rumors that some of the clubs have sex kinks and you gotta play that game in order to belong. Is that your guys’ thing?” Her eyes are wide, but there’s cunning behind them. She wants to start a fight. She wants to see her man throw down and prove himself to us interlopers.