We were half way back to our bikes when Gunner finally spoke up, what he said though wasn’t exactly what I was expecting.
“Hey boss, I’m sorry. If this shit is true, then it’s on me and I didn’t mean to put the club in danger.”
“If this shit is true, it’s on Twist not you Gun.”
“I brought him in. Gave him my vote to get him on prospect status and petitioned for him to be added to the inner team. That’s on me.” Gun said, and you could hear the regret in his voice.
“If this shit holds and we find out Skull isn’t blowing smoke up our asses then Twist made those decisions on his fucking own. You can’t take the responsibility for that shit. You always put your brothers’ first Gun. I know that. The brothers know that. Rest easy man and don’t get your tits all knotted up about that shit.”
I said trying to laugh it off. I knew what Gun was feeling, I had been in his position and it sucked.
He gave a weak smile I saw out of the corner of my eye. We pulled the side by side ATV into the garage area and bailed out.
“Want to head out to Pussy’s for a drink?”
Pussy Willow was a club operated strip joint where the men liked to hang out—for obvious reasons. Any other night I would have said yes. Before Nicole I would have said yes to a hell of a lot more than a drink. Since I had tasted that sassy woman, it wasn’t going to happen. There’s only one woman and one past time on my mind. It’s not any of the bitches at Pussy’s, and it’s not drinking.
“Nah man, I got plans.”
“Crush mentioned some chick, we going to be seeing her at the club soon?” He asks as we reach our bikes.
“I’m thinking affirmative on that brother,” I said straddling my ride.
“Good stuff. Club needs fresh blood.”
“No brother. This one is off fucking limits,” Gunner was a damn good looking man, all Californian, easy going, blonde hair and blue eyes. Fuck no he wasn’t getting around my woman.
When I realized what I was thinking, my fucking hands shook.
Chapter 9
Nicole
I never claimed to be the sharpest tool in the shed. I had spent the last day and a half berating myself for everything I had allowed with Dragon. Different thoughts ran through my mind. I could tuck tail and run back to Blade. I could quit and find a different job. I could pretend whatever happened between me and Dragon (and yes, I was leaning towards this one) never happened.
Except it did, we got laid and fucked and we want it again.
Bad Nicole was a mean spiteful bitch and a whore and her voice in my head was annoying. What Bad Nicole wasn’t, well she wasn’t wrong. I have never felt like that before. Dragon touched and awoke spots in me I never even knew existed. A girl could get addicted to the feelings he brought out in you.
So instead of sleeping at 11:58 p.m. on a Tuesday night, I’m sitting on the couch watching an October Scream and Scare Marathon on TV. I’m currently on Halloween ….who the hell knows what version or number? I’m curled up on the couch in my fuzzy red pajama pants with hot pink hearts all over them, a white baby doll t-shirt and big pink fuzzy socks. My hair is pulled up on top of my head in a pony-tail-bun-gone-wrong combination and I just polished off a pint of chunky monkey ice cream. I might be in a depression. Dani is out with some boy toy and the house is too damn quiet. So ice cream seemed like the only solution. I miss Dragon.
There I said it. I kind of expected him to stop me from leaving the bar. I was disappointed when he didn’t. I was okay though, totally fine. Then, time kept passing and I haven’t heard a word from him. Seems that should clue me in. I am definitely the whore I originally pegged myself as, and Dragon got what he wanted. He’s probably sunk up in some cupcake now.
I refuse to call them Twinkies. I happen to like Twinkies and knowing Dragon called his whores that would ruin Twinkies for me. Of course as I think this, I am studiously avoiding the view of my kitchen table. I might have accidentally poured out the contents of a Twinkie box and I might have accidentally flattened them with the bottom of my umm third or fourth glass of raspberry vodka and sprite. I could probably use another glass, but the cream that’s all over the glass from the exploded plastic wrapped goodies annoys me. So, I don’t. Instead I lie here watching some bubble-headed ho bag get chopped up on the TV screen. Seriously, does it always have to be the blondes and why on Earth are they always half dressed?
I pull the warm throw down off the back of the couch and snuggle up. When Dani and I first got here the weather was sunny and warm and in the high seventies. Now, it’s dreary, rainy, and cold and I think the TV said it was like forty-two degrees outside. I figure that is somehow Dragon’s fault too, I just don’t know how to blame him yet. I should go to bed and sleep, but I tend to think more of Dragon there, so I refuse to.