Cross Your Heart:Inked Angels MC(2)

It had been easy enough. The bastard was softer than toilet paper, and he'd crumbled after just a couple visits from our guys. He'd agreed readily to the terms we proposed: cut us in on fifteen percent of everything he moved, stick to approved products only, and don't stir up unnecessary attention.



The first part of the deal had gone relatively smoothly. As far as I was aware, he hadn't missed a payment yet. His money was just a drop in the bucket compared to the full range of businesses we dabbled in, but it was as much about having him paying tribute to the Angels as it was about his providing us with financial support. Money was power, and him giving it to us meant that he recognized we were the top dogs around this neck of the woods. Exactly the way it should be.



The second part was non-negotiable. We weren't about to support any kind of hard drugs. Growler, the Inked Angels president, was firmly against it, and I agreed with him. I'd grown up in a hard scrabble town, and I'd seen first-hand what shit like crystal meth and heroin could do to people. It turned otherwise good folk into raving lunatics. That toxic stuff ate away at a man's brain, and we weren't about to condone some shit like that under our watch. One sniff of him tip-toeing outside the lines of what we'd approved, and we'd have been on him like flies to shit.



The third part was perhaps the most important of all. We had a fragile understanding with the local police department. They knew we had a code of ethics and as long as we stuck to the gray areas of the law without venturing too far into some of the murkier business models that existed out there, they were okay with letting a few things go by free of undue scrutiny.



But now, it sounded like that tentative peace was about to go the way of the dinosaur. If this fucker Ricardo messed up everything that the club had spent years carefully building, then he was going to end up very hurt indeed.



"What kind of shit is he doing?" I asked Steezy cautiously.



"Hard to say. My buddy wasn't making much sense. He says Ricardo's really gone off the deep end, though. He's talking about shit like demons and black magic and shit, man. I mean, what the hell is that about?" Steezy gave me a shrug.



"Demons, huh? Well, I dunno about all that," Crash muttered, "but it sounds like someone needs to pay our amigo a little visit."



Everyone around the table nodded in unison. "Tell Growler," I said. "He'll get the right guys on it." With any luck, the prez would send some muscle over to Ricardo, they'd sit him down and tell him to get his shit in order, and that would be the end of things. He'd have to be a damn fool to keep making noise if he knew we were keeping our eyes close on him.



"I'm gonna go get that beer before I fuckin' die of thirst," I added. Big Tuna rumbled his approval, and I turned and headed to the bar.



Walking up and leaning up on the bar top, I looked down to where the bartender stood at the far end. Damn, she had a body on her. Her ass swooped out in all the right places and those tits were perky as hell. Not a bad face, either. I had the same thought I always had when I saw a beautiful woman: I wouldn't mind seeing what it looked like while she came.



She was pretty deft with her hands, flipping bottles around as she poured shots for a ratty-looking group of truckers a few stools down. She gave me a quick nod to let me know she'd be right over to me. I sighed and spread my feet, settling in to wait.



A tentative tap on the shoulder took me by surprise. I turned around coolly to see one of the townie girls, biting her lip and looking up at me. I drank her in, slowly, starting at her feet and working my way up. Hell, she wasn't too bad herself. Most of the girls in the town looked like million-mile tires with some roadkill stuck in the treads, but this chick had a petite frame that jiggled pretty damn nicely whenever she moved. She was bangable at the very least.



"Excuse me," she said shyly when I'd finished giving her the up-down, "but are you an, um … a biker?"



Inside, I laughed, but on the outside, I stayed stony. Girls were like fish - give them too much line too quickly and they weren't interested. Better to let her work for it just a bit. "What's it to you?" I growled.   





 



Her cheeks were burning red. "It's just that, well, um, my friends and I were wondering if you were. That's all," she stuttered. She was nervous as hell. I could see her clamping her hands in front of her to stop them from shaking. She shot a sideways glance at a group of giggling girls seated off to our right. I followed her eyes and looked at them, too.



They immediately turned away. I supposed we were an intimidating group. To be honest, the girls we fucked usually needed a couple shots before they were willing to ‘cross the line,' so to speak. And they usually needed a few more after that before they could ease up enough to take the monster behind my zipper.



"Might be," I said. "What's your name?"



"Madeline," she said. Her eyes flitted up to my face for a moment. She had mascara painted on thick. Her dark eyelashes fluttered, heavy with the stuff, while she kept gnawing at her glossy lip. The tank top and tight black jeans she was wearing left little to the imagination.



"Well, Madeline, I think you already know the answer to your question."



She fidgeted on her feet and opened her mouth as if to talk, but she fell silent before saying another word.



"Don't have to look so nervous, sweetheart," I said with a wink, suddenly breaking my flinty gaze. "I ain't gonna bite. Well," I added, "not hard."



A giggle burst out from between her lips. I liked that sound. I bet she'd sound even sweeter when she was coming on my dick. Maybe I'd take the time to find out. It sure seemed like that's what she was angling for, and who was I to stop her from getting what she wanted?



I relaxed onto my elbow where it rested against the bar. "Where are you from, darling?" I asked her.



"Oh, just here, you know, like everyone else," she demurred. "Nowhere important." She looked down at her feet.



"Well, it ain't about where you're from, I suppose. The more important thing is where you're headed."



"I'm not really sure," she said.



She might not have been sure, but I had a pretty good idea. "How about home with me?"



She blushed another hue deeper. Before she could answer, I heard someone clearing their throat on the other side of the bar. I swiveled my head to see the bartender slouched in front of me, giving me an amused side-eye.



"You gonna make me wait forever, or would you like something to drink?" she asked sarcastically.



I immediately forgot about the townie girl. This bartender had some sass to her, a real salty attitude that I found attractive. Nothing better than a girl who isn't afraid to give some push-back.



"That depends," I said with a wry grin. "I certainly wouldn't mind standing here and just looking at you for a while."



She rolled her eyes, but I could see that she liked the attention. "And here I was thinking you were gonna spend the whole night talking to these tarted-up girls who're barely out of high school."



I glanced out of the corner of my eye and saw the local chick burning with loathing at the wise-cracking bartender. I chuckled to myself. The competing female attention was always entertaining. Girls could be cold towards men, but when it came to other women, they were downright ruthless. I'd learned a long time ago that it was best to stay out of the line of fire and just wait until there was only one left standing.



"Shouldn't you be doing your job?" the townie snapped over my shoulder.



The bartender looked down on her with a patronizing sweetness. "Honey, at least I got one. The only job you've ever tried is a blowjob. And that don't help much with the bills, now, does it?"



I couldn't help but chuckle at that one. This chick was really growing on me. The townie stammered but it looked like the wires in her brain were short-circuiting. Without anything good enough to retort with, she turned and stomped off back to her friends. I could almost see the steam rising from her ears.



"No need to be so rough on the local youth," I remarked.



She sighed and started wiping down a rack of beer glasses below the counter. "Those girls flock in here anytime someone shows up on a motorcycle," she said, tossing her head in the direction of the flock of girls who kept throwing evil eyes at her as they comforted their furious friend. "I gotta give them credit, though, at least they know what they're after."



"What's that?"



"Men like you."



"Oh?" I said, raising an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"   





 



"The kind of man who'll go to bed with the first girl willing to part her legs for him, that's what it means," she fired at me.



I put a hand on my chest like I was offended. "You've got me pegged all wrong, sweetness," I protested. "I'm as pure as the driven snow."



She laughed. Her eyes locked on mine as she stopped cleaning. As she looked at me, her lips parted slightly. I saw white teeth and a red tongue. It looked tasty. For a moment, there was just her eyes and mine, tangoing, jousting.



"I know your type," she said finally. "The word ‘manwhore' comes to mind."