“Damn.” Jackal smirks as he revs his engine. “I was almost hoping I’d have to run back in and carry your naked ass out like a sack of potatoes.”
I roll my eye and straddle my baby. “Like you could.” He may have a couple inches on my six-foot-four but I’m a lot more grizzled than Jackal, wider and damn near forty pounds heavier. The exact reasons Prez made me an Enforcer so many years ago. Those and the fact that I’m fucking lethal with most weapons as well as my fists despite my physical shortcomings.
“The right amount of determination can get any job done, no matter how impossible it seems.”
“Jesus,” I snort and fire up my Fat Boy 114. “Ok, Confucius. Let’s fucking ride. You got a little over an hour before I decide you weren’t worth getting out of bed for.”
Jackal cackles like a jackass then takes off toward the gate like the maniac he is, barely waiting for it to open before he’s tearing down the road toward MACs. He’s wired all right, and it’s either going to get him an STD or put into a pair of shiny silver bracelets by the time I split.
And when we roll into the bar’s parking lot to see it’s packed, loaded with bikes and trucks, several drunks already passed out in the dirt, I start counting down the minutes until midnight.
“This is gonna be easy as fuck.” Jackal smiles, then dusts off his cut like it’ll make a difference. “I bet I’ll have at least two rocket riders by the time you turn into a pumpkin.”
Asshole.
But I nod toward the bar as I stick a cigarette between my teeth, crack my lighter and follow my best friend into the last place I want to be right now.
MACs is one of the more prestigious biker bars, but it’s still a hole in the wall piece of shit, the name very literally an abbreviation forMotorcycles and Cunts, complete with subpar booze, sketchy food, and even sketchier patrons. Jackal’s uncle, our former president and another founder of Wulven Kings MC, started it in the seventies and I’m almost positive the place hasn’t seen any kind of TLC since then.
The bar itself is the most solid piece of furniture in the entire joint, but it’s so sticky and grimy you could probably catch the bubonic plague by touching it for too long. There’s a small dance floor and jukebox, about fifteen tables in the center, another seven or so along the walls and the bar seats about ten, but MACs is always packed to capacity, usually beyond that with numbers that would test any fire code for sure.
The one and only bartender, Little John, is old as fuck, grumpy as hell, and scarier still, and I’m almost positive the dude was born behind the bar he works at because I’ve never not seen him there, slinging drinks with a glint of murder in his eyes. Rumor has it, Little John was a hit man for the Pythons back in the day, racked up an ungodly body count before he retired, and that alone means no one fucks with him, but I have it on good authority that the Pythons still call on his services from time to time and it makes me damn glad he’s a friend and they’re one of our allies. I’d hate to wake up to Little John looming over me in the middle of the night ready to carry out orders if they weren’t.
“Hell yes, brother.” Jackal claps his hands and rubs them together as we head toward the bar. “Look at all that pussy.”
I take a drag from my smoke while I scan the sea of rough women and deadly men.
MACs is definitely hopping tonight but it’s an even mix between broads that are well past their prime trying desperately to bag a man—the lifestyle clearly taking a toll on their once decent looks; haggard and run down, most in their early forties or older dressed like the worst kind of burned-out sweet butt cliche. The other half isn’t much better, younger girls with the same goal in mind, dreams of becoming someone’s old lady while they flaunt the goods and distort their image with too much makeup and not enough clothes.
I’m not sure Jackal is going to get the challenge he’s after tonight. Too many willing participants ready to bone the first patch to glance in their direction.
Whatever.
That’s his problem, not mine.
I nod to Little John as Jackal and I walk toward our regular table, one of the high backs against the wall reserved for our club, and just when I’m about to plant my ass and wait for this shitshow to get underway, a flash of color catches my eye.
Toward the end of the bar, perched sloppily on one of the stools, is hands down the prettiest and most out of place woman I have ever seen.
Almost white-blonde hair pulled into a loose bun on top of her head, thick, blunt bangs cut into a straight line sitting just above a pair of oversized tortoise shell glasses— glasses resting on a rather celestial looking nose, the end slightly upturned. Heart-shaped mouth. Diamond-shaped face. Porcelain skin with a faint flush to her high cheekbones.
She’s wearing a burnt orange sweater that might actually fitmebecause this girl is swimming in the knit material, the collar hanging off one shoulder to reveal the thin strap of a tank top and more of that creamy skin. I bet if I were closer, I’d be able to see freckles dotting her flesh like little flecks of gold. And I’d definitely be able to tell what color her eyes are, but even from here I can still tell they’re bright.
This chick is a fucking knockout and I have no fucking clue how she wound up at MACs or why she’s sitting at the bar alone.
What I am sure of? This isn’t going to fare well for Blondie.
“Get a load of her.” Jackal smacks my arm after he sets a beer in front of me and nods toward the wallflower ignoring everything but her own tall neck. “You seen her before?”
I shake my head. “Probably not from around here.” And even if she is, she’s not affiliated with any of the clubs. She’s way too pretty, too pure, to be in a place like this or associated with assholes like us.
“Hot damn. Looks like I found me a real challenge tonight.”
My head snaps in his direction, my eye narrowed on his face. “She’s too good for you.”
Jackal stares at Blondie for a few more minutes, then nods in agreement. “You’re probably right. My efforts would be wasted on someone like her, and I’d end up with balls bluer than a Smurf’s by the time she threatened to kick me in them.”
I smirk and sip my beer.
