Undeniable (Undeniable, #1)(22)
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After f*cking Eva all morning, she had fallen asleep again. It was late afternoon now, and Deuce and a few of his boys were drinking brews and grilling steaks out back of the clubhouse.
“Where’s the hottie?” Tap asked around the neck of his beer bottle.
“Which one?” Jase asked. “The blonde or the brunette? They’re both badass.”
ZZ laughed. “The blonde’s been in a Ripper/Cox sandwich since she got here.”
Hawk made a face. “Shit’s not fair. If it’d been me that walked out there first, bitch would be in my bed.”
Deuce shrugged. “Kami’s a f*ckin’ whore. Doubt she’ll be opposed to you joinin’ the party.”
“Naw,” Chips said. “I already tried. They don’t wanna share. Not that I blame ’em. Not many holes left available when they’re both hittin’ that shit at the same time. So how’s ’bout yours, Prez? You wanna pass her on yet?”
ZZ spit out his beer.
“Asshat,” Jase muttered. “That’s not a whore. That’s Eva Fox, Preacher’s f*ckin’ daughter. The bitch our prez can’t seem to think straight around. The bitch who got him shot.”
Chips eyes went wide.
“I got myself shot,” he muttered. “Wasn’t her f*ckin’ fault. She was sixteen. I had my hand down her f*ckin’ pants, and my tongue down her throat. He’s her old man; do you really f*ckin’ blame him?”
“You die,” Marsh said, his expression hard, “then, yeah, I would f*ckin’ blame him.”
“Sixteen, huh?” Danny D. grinned. “Nice.”
Tap frowned at Danny. “You’re f*ckin’ sick, dude. I got a fifteen-year-old daughter. Some f*ckin’ old * like Prez gets anywhere near her pants, and I’m gonna put him to ground. I’m puttin’ a one-year age difference on her datin’ life.” Tap turned to him. “Not a f*ckin’ eighteen-year difference.”
“It’s not like that,” Deuce muttered, feeling strangely embarrassed. “Got nothin’ to do with her age. Never has. Been likin’ her since she was just a kid, and now her bein’ a woman, my cock likes her, too. But it’s never been ’bout her age. Straight up, it’s always been just ’bout her.”
His boys were staring at him as if he had grown a second head.
“Damn, Prez,” Jase muttered. “Just…damn.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Aside from Cox, Ripper, and Mick—who hadn’t returned—I met Blue, ZZ, Chip, Bucket, Worm, Freebird, Hawk, Marsh, Danny D., Danny L., Tramp, Dimebag, Tap, Dirty, and Jase. And those were just the names I remembered.
Out of everyone I met, I liked Cox, ZZ, and Freebird the most. ZZ was an eighteen-year-old novitiate who, like me, had been born into the life. He also reminded me of Frankie with his chocolate brown eyes and shoulder-length brown hair that he kept in a ponytail midskull. He was tall and lean with an overall innocence that I knew would soon be wiped right out of him.
Figuring out how Freebird got his name wasn’t hard. Long gray-and-black hair hung greasy and stringy halfway down his back. He was balding on top, but he hid it well using Bret Michaels’ bandana-balding solution. His gray beard was braided in one long braid that reached his chest, and he still wore bell-bottom jeans that had been patched over so many times I wasn’t sure if any of the original denim remained. His arms were covered in tattoos: peace signs, yin and yang, and words like freedom, peace, and the open road. Kinda hypocritical for a biker belonging to the Hell’s Horsemen MC, but whatever, he told dirty jokes and made me laugh.
The clubhouse whores weren’t half as bad as the ones constantly camped out at the Demons NYC MC, half of which were actual whores. That’s not saying these girls didn’t have their problems. The biggest being they desperately wanted to become an old lady and early on had made the mistake of sleeping with half the club. Now they were stuck. No biker was going to put a woman on the back of his bike who’s slept with half his brothers.
My least favorite was a bleached blonde named Miranda. She was twenty-five, a high school dropout, and a mom of two, fathers unknown. When I asked her where her kids were, what she did with them while she was here—which apparently was all the time—she told me her mother had custody. This disgusted me. I had no love for deadbeat moms.
I asked Deuce if he’d been with her, and he gave me a cocked eyebrow, lazy-eyed look.
Then he said, “Babe,” in such a way that made me feel like I just asked the most ridiculous question ever asked.
I stormed off, and he burst out laughing. Next thing I knew, he was tossing me up over his shoulder and taking me back to bed.
As for the rest of the regulars, they varied in ages and sizes, same as the bikers they catered to. Some were young; others were middle-aged. Some were thin and shapeless; others were plump with a little too many curves in all the wrong places. Most were average women who wore too much makeup and not enough clothing. All of them were pathetic.
All except Dorothy, a petite redhead with lots of adorable freckles. She was twenty-four and married with a seven-year-old daughter. Her husband was a scumbag truck driver who was gone three weeks out of every month. She would wake up in the morning, drive her daughter to school, and then come straight to the club. Aside from participating in her exclusive relationship with Jase—who wasn’t exclusive to her and was married, to boot—she was paid to clean the club, make breakfast and lunch for the brothers, and do their laundry before she left for the day. Jase was there every day she was; they would spend an hour or two in his room, and then he would leave and she’d get back to work. Around three, she’d leave to pick up her daughter and wouldn’t return until the next morning. Every now and then, she would drop her daughter off at her sister’s on a Friday or Saturday, so she and Jase could spend the night together. All this I knew because she had made lunch for Kami and me, and we spent the afternoon talking.