Bad Boys of Romance(193)
“Now, Shirley you know the Gods don’t really own women.”
She shrugged, hoping her words scared off my girl, knowing her. “It’s only a matter of time. The General isn’t getting any younger.” Shirley never let an opportunity to remind me about her plight slip by.
“Anne’s getting ready to go suit up for the ride.” I piled a wad a cash into Emery’s hand and gestured toward the door of the dealership. “Go on inside and tell them you need the works.”
Emery walked off without a word, and I just had to trust her. I had Emery’s money after all, but as I watched her walk away, her ass swinging back and forth in her hooker clothes, I realized I needed her to come back.
“Never thought I’d see the day you’d show up on my doorstep with a back warmer. You trust her?
“Yes,” I lied, quickly grasping my mistake. If Shirley knew I’d brought anyone I wasn’t sure about into her vicinity, I’d be crap on toast. I knew now I’d never be able to explain who Emery really was to Shirley, even if I said she’d been paying me to kill her. Who’d buy that? “She’s my girl.” I added for good measure.
“You bringing her to my roost after we ride?” She asked with a pout.
“With your permission of course.” I took hold of Shirley’s waist, towing her in tight against me, despite the onlookers. “It isn’t like that. Anne doesn’t change the relationship between you and me.”
“Good,” she grabbed my crotch. “Mama’s hurtin’ for you boy. Until later.” She blew me a kiss as she sashayed away. “Let’s ride,” she announced to the crowd and folks started revving their engines.
Emery walked out of the shop just in time, looking like a different woman. She’d pulled her hair up, showing off the diamond hoops I’d stole off Kym’s corpse. Emery sparkled, a vision in leather as she strapped on her half helmet and slid her shades on. Painted on black leather pants with Kym’s sparkly, tight, red tube top revealed her tight tan stomach with all her white little scars. She’d topped off the look with a black, sleeveless half leather vest, shaped to let her boobs run the show. Plain, of course, since she wasn’t prospecting and this shop doesn’t cater to posers. She kept her shiny red heels on, saying she was only going to be on the back and didn’t need boots. I wanted to fuck her on the bike, right then and there, but knew it’d make Shirley as jealous as hellfire. I didn’t know how I was going to spend a night with Shirley and leave Emery alone tonight. I’d have to too because, knowing Shirley, she wouldn’t hand over the money until I satisfied her.
Emery and I jetted out of the lot right after The Banshee and Legs. We’d be riding high and tight, so it didn’t matter if I didn’t know the route. Watching the flaming high heels on the back of Shirley’s cut, I wondered why I didn’t leave the Gods when she did. Unlike some other outlaw gangs, the Asphalt Gods allowed women to become fully patched members. We didn’t really own women even if we called them our property. Sure, we had our whores and the women prospects had it the worst. Traditions don’t change overnight. Wives still liked to be called old ladies and men were still just as protective over them as ever. And they still weren’t faithful and could be found at the clubhouse with a whore impaled on their dicks rather than sitting round the dinner table. The women members were just as bad, bringing in prospects they fancied fucking. But Shirley earning rank, being an officer was too much for the men to handle. Shirley fought hard, put the others in their place too many times to count. She’d been Road Captain for three years before she’d had enough disrespect from her so-called brothers. Truth be told, she’d have been the natural successor to the General. The men had known it, and wouldn’t have it.
They’d tried to frame her for various offenses against the club, but ended up fucking up and getting caught red-handed every time. For a while, it was comical and commonplace to see how much abuse The Banshee could take. Then they started going outside the club and got Shirley fired from her job at the hardware store. The General couldn’t punish every officer, or maybe he just wouldn’t, so he decreed whoever wanted to leave the club could do so with no punishment, for a limited time of course. Eventually, Shirley shipped out.
The General offered Shirley the Presidency of her own club, a support club. She’d said fuck that, that she’d start her own Outlaw club. She left and traveled as far away as she could and formed Hell on Heelz eight years ago. I could have left with her. She’d offered. Unfortunately, the promise that one day, I’d get revenge on the Sons of Satan or, at least what I’ve been waiting for, held me back.