Page 88 of Past Tents

“No shit?”

“Yeah, something for the new renovations. Heard it wasn’t going well. He’s a real hard-ass.”

The same renovations I was here to talk about. I wanted to ask more but didn’t have the chance. Two regulars walked out of the bar; Rooster and Cueball. The Iron Wraiths insignia on their vests was as good as waving a gun in the air. I recognized their swagger as an attempt to hide sloppy drunkenness. G-Spot was neutral territory for several of the local MCs, including the Black Demons and the Iron Wraiths. It’s the only place the MCs tolerated each other, far as I knew. Everywhere else they’d pick a fight over the color of the sky. Here, business was business and us women were business.

“Look at this one.” Rooster—named for his short red mohawk and hooked nose—looked me up and down. These bikers weren’t exactly blowing any minds with their nicknaming skills.

“Where were you, baby? I’d pay extra for some time with you,” Cueball added. Cueball was—you guessed it—pale with a shiny bald head and round enough to roll down the Smokies.

What I wanted to do was roll my eyes and tell them their wedding rings weren’t just for decoration. But Occum's rule for dancers was “shut up and look pretty,” so I couldn’t go pissing off his clientele. And Lord knew I was already on thin ice for my sharp tongue and quick temper.

I smiled and tried to go in past them. If I couldn’t say nothing nice … I’d kick their bikes later.

“Come on now, how much for a quick BJ in the parking lot?” Cueball was so drunk his eyes couldn’t focus on me as he asked.

My teeth ground together. I knew everybody thought dancers were hookers but we weren’t. At least, not all of us.

“You can’t afford me, sweetie.” I winked.

“Hey, aren’t you Short Fuse Suze?” Cueball asked. I knew they’d recognize me sooner or later. I was almost a Wraith girl a million years ago. “Careful. You know what she did to Jethro Winston.”

“I don’t care. I still want a piece.” Rooster just about had me in his grip when Ka-Bar got ‘em.

He was faster and stronger than these drunks would ever be. He had the redhead face-first against the club exterior faster than you could say Mississippi mud pie.

“No hands.” His voice was cool but the threat was clear.

“You can’t fucking touch me,” Rooster said, his cheek smashed against brick.

Cueball looked back and forth, fists balled and ready for action.

“You know the rules. Get your asses home,” Ka-Bar warned.

Rooster stood up and shook out his leather jacket. “Don’t forget who you’re fucking with. Razor’s gonna hear about this.”

My cheeks burned. I dug my fake nails into my palms to keep from clawing their eyes out.

“Big mistake.” Cueball spat on the ground as they made their way toward their rides. When he was a safe distance from Ka-Bar, he shouted something about me being a cocktease.

I picked up the stool Ka-Bar had been sitting on and lifted it over my head, fully intending on nailing the suckers as they hightailed it out of there.

“Easy girl.” He grabbed me around the waist, pulling me back out of sight. He ripped the stool out of my tense grip.

“Just one good smack. Teach ‘em a lesson.” I glared after them until their rumbling engines were out of earshot.

Ka-Bar rubbed my shoulder. “Don’t get any ideas, Short Fuse.”

Set one bike on fire and suddenly you had a reputation. Okay so maybe I had been thinking about setting them on fire. If I couldn’t do that I’d whack ‘em with a stool.

“Mother clucker,” I swore under my breath.

Ka-bar raised an amused eyebrow at me.

“I’m trying this new thing where I don’t swear as much. And come on, he’s Rooster. It’s funny.”

“I sure miss your crazy antics.” He shook his head. “Get in. You’re shivering.”

Making him smile helped ease my tension but my fingers still trembled as I ran them through my hair. I should be used to this behavior from men. I’d been ogled since thirteen when my natural Ds sprouted overnight. Still, it was nice to have Ka-Bar around when men got ugly. Not all the Iron Wraiths were so bad.

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