Under Locke(27)

“The Prez?”



Trip nodded.



What the hell was the Prez? Even if he was the President of the United States, I’d have to get paid at least a few grand to go anywhere near his lap. Yuck.



“The Widows?”



Trip slapped a hand over the right side of his leather vest over where the white patch was stitched. “What else would he be the president of?”



I ignored his smart ass comment and focused on the men hustling around, messing with each other. "There's a lot of you guys."



“We got chapters all over Texas and the Southwest.”



Hmm. I still didn’t have a single clue what exactly it meant to be in a motorcycle club besides what I saw on television, or hell, the stuff my mom had told me about years ago when the club was mixed up in drug running. She hadn't told me much but it was enough to know that twenty-five years ago, the WMC wasn't a group of people that valued family and community service.



Though now, even after Sonny had explained that the Widowmakers had changed their ways, they probably still didn't hold bake sales but whatever.



As nice as Trip seemed, I figured I should probably hold most of my questions for Sonny. If anyone was going to laugh at me for asking dumb things, I’d rather it be him than someone else.



“If you would've gotten here last month you could've gone to our rally,” he mentioned.



"What do you at a rally? Get together?"



Trip nodded, clinking his bottle against mine. "We all drive down to Galveston and," he smiled wickedly, "party for a couple of days."



It was impossible not to miss the implication in his face. He had trouble written all over him, making me snort. "I bet you guys just party."



"We do," he insisted with another grin, his fingers inching up his neck to scratch at a two-inch scar that scissored his skin. "Now. Ten years ago... that'd be a different story."



That was something to think about and ask Sonny about later. I shoved that plan into the back of my head and raised my eyebrow at Trip instead, just as the same girl squealed once more. We both looked back at Luther and the twenty-something who had her face buried in his neck.



Sheesh. That was disturbing. I was pretty sure that Luther was definitely older than my dad. Yuck.



There were plenty of other men scattered around, some in their forties and younger who weren't unattractive, sure they were kind of hairy and had tattoos that would probably give me nightmares, but they weren't eyesores. So I didn’t understand why the girl was hanging all over Luther of all people. There was something really hard about his face that made me a little wary and added to the comment Trip had made about the club's activities ten years ago. If anyone had a face of a lifetime worth of doing risky things, it was Luther.



If Trip was right—and I knew he was—then the girl was just like any other little gold digger. Or groupie! She wanted the top dog even if he was in his fifties or sixties. And not so attractive. And more than likely had wrinkly balls, which I couldn't even figure out why I would think about to begin with.



Gag.



We talked a few more minutes about some of the people around us. Trip pointed out those who were native to Austin and his club.



I looked back over at Trip and raised my eyebrows, sliding the glass of juice I'd been holding away from me. "I guess I'm going to go home."



"Want me to walk you to your car?"



The incident the night before flashed through my brain. Friggin' Dex. "Nah. I parked close by."



"You sure? Son might kill me if something happens to you."



I snorted. Total Sonny. Threatening people left and right. "It's fine. He's a pussy cat."



"Are we talkin' about the same person?" Trip laughed. "The day you showed up, he said he'd break both my legs if I tried anythin' with you.”



“Aren’t you his best friend?”



He scrunched up his face, making the harsh lines of blonde facial hair seem pretty darn cute. “And?” Trip leaned back, shaking his head.



The mental picture of my half-brother breaking someone’s legs made me grin. "It's really okay." He didn't need to know my car was back at the shop's lot. I mean, it was close by. Squeezing his forearm, I smiled at him. "Thanks for keeping me company."



"Baby, trust me, it's a pleasure."



I gave him a lopsided smile. "Bye, Trip."



Wiggling my fingers at him in goodbye, I hopped off the barstool and shimmied my way through the thick crowd of strangers. I'd barely pushed through the doors when the loud roar that could have only come from a group of motorcycles filled the air. The small group of people hanging outside smoking cigarettes were murmuring, but the louder the roar got, the louder their voices did too.