“You’ll be OK here on your own, right?” he asks, “I wanted to wait until you got here, to know you weren’t gonna bail after one day, but I’ve got some shit to attend to elsewhere.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, cooling myself, “Is there anything you actually need me to do, or am I just supposed to wait around until you feel like fucking me?”
“Find some way to be useful,” he shrugs, “But I don’t much care either way. You wanted to be here, right? Well, congratulations. You’re here. Do whatever the hell you want. I’ll see you later.”
And just like that, he marches off. I stare after him, at a loss. After a night of tossing and turning, wondering what today might hold, that’s all I get? I wasn’t expecting a picnic or anything, but come on. I thought I was here to keep Leo company, or something. How am I supposed to do that when he won’t give me the time of day?
He jumps onto his Harley across the lot and takes off in a hurry. Guess he really does have somewhere to be. There’s more to being in a successful MC than screwing and smoking weed all day, I have to remind myself. He surely does have other important things to take care of. This life isn’t one of leisure—I can’t hold that against him. But still...five minutes of his time would be nice.
I heave a sigh and look out across the lot. Standing in front of the Devil’s Playpen, I have a pretty good view of the entire compound. The barracks and chapel are quiet at this early hour. Either all the members have dispersed to their own homes for the night, or else they’re passed out all around the nest with the ladies of their choice. I suddenly feel incredibly lonely, all alone in this new, unfamiliar place. I miss my best friend, my comfortable life in LA. But I can’t dwell on that—I have a job to do.
The only light I see shines from the busted-up RV Leo and I made out against yesterday. I blush, wondering if that’s someone’s home. Was somebody inside while we got nasty in the shade of their house yesterday? Now there’s a first impression for you. Hopefully we weren’t too loud as we went at it. The very memory of that encounter gives me goose bumps. I don’t know how much longer I can go without another dose of Leo’s affections.
I dispel the thought from my mind and walk into the club. I’m swallowed up by near total darkness as I enter. Guess it takes a bit of trickery to keep up the late-night illusion in here. As my eyes begin to adjust, I expect to see a few women manning their posts—or rather, their poles. But I don’t spot any dancing ladies as I make my way across the room. The place seems to be deserted. Or at least I think so, until I look over at the bar.
Four gorgeous women are perched along the counter, each more scantily clad than the next. Before them on the bar is a huge pile of cash and contraband. Bills, watches, jewels, casino chips, they’ve got it all. They pick through their loot like kids trading Halloween candy—only with cigarettes and bloody mary’s instead of KitKats and Reeses. I stop short, staring at them. Each wears little more than a g-string and a barely-there bra, yet they look as comfortable as can be. I smile to myself, studying the quartet of strippers. They remind me of the foursome of women who call the Forty-Five Club home. Some things are certainly different around this MC, but I guess not that different...
“Who scored the Rolex?” asks one of the women, a curvy beauty with pale skin and auburn hair, “Very impressive.”
“That would be me,” answers another, a blonde waif with an airy voice and wing-like shoulder blades, “I don’t know what it is with men and their watches. They’re so attached. You’d think they were paying me with their first born children or something...”
“Check this out,” grins a tattooed brunette with plump lips, “Dude gave me his grandfather’s cufflinks when he couldn’t scrounge up enough cash. Now that’s dedication.”
“Or delusion, whatever,” quips a short girl rocking a platinum blonde pixie cut, “But I guess delusion is of our bread and butter, right?”
“I’ll drink to that,” says the auburn-haired goddess.
The four women raise their glasses, laughing together. It’s only then that they spot me, standing off in the shadows. As one, they spin to face me on their stools, curious and more than a little intimidating. I very rarely feel mousy, but in this instant, I may as well have braces and pigtails. There’s a raw, unbridled sexuality to these women that I’ve simply never encountered before. It’s almost overpowering.
“You know we’re closed for the day, right honey?” grins the tattooed girl, “And we don’t have open auditions. This isn’t Coyote Ugly.”
“Oh, I’m not here to...I’m the new...” I try to force the right words out of my mouth, to no avail. These girls have me all tongue-tied.
“Oh! Are you Leo’s new girl?” asks the blonde waif, cocking her head at me.
“Something like that,” I reply.
“Oh yeah. He said something about you stopping by,” sniffs the redhead, “You’re gonna be our IT girl or whatever, right?”
“In name, at least,” I tell her, “But I’m pretty sure Leo’s not as concerned about my computer skills as he is my bedroom skills.”
“Ooh, so you’re all caught up,” the girl with the pixie-cut laughs, “I was afraid you might not know the real score. It’s not every woman who’s OK with being a real life sex toy.”
“...Right,” I say. It’s all I can manage.
“Look at us, forgetting our manners,” says the woman with the auburn hair, “We haven’t even asked your name yet.”
“I’m Kelly,” I say, taking a step toward them, “Kelly Rodgers.”
“Hi Kelly. I’m Quinn,” says the redhead, shifting her weight on the stool. She wears emerald green lingerie, looking every bit the Celtic sex goddess.
“My name’s Emma,” says the waif, her delicate features lifting into a light smile. Her ethereal outfit makes her look like an angelic wet dream incarnate.
“You can call me Blaire,” the tattooed girl tells me, straightening her rhinestone-encrusted bustier. Her Betty Paige bangs and wide grin tell me that we’re going to be fast friends.
“And I’m Rachel,” says the short-haired girl, the youngest looking of them all. There’s a smattering of freckles across her nose and a charming gap in her front tooth—a disarming and adorable combination.