Page 42 of Cutter

Shaking her head, she walked back into the station. Her imagination was getting the best of her.

Cutter stopped his chopper in front of the clubhouse, waiting for Barron to come down the steps and join him. “How was dinner?” he asked as his friend got closer.

“Yoanni liked the food and the place. I’m off her shit list.” Barron straddled his bike. “What about you and Emily?

“Touch and go,” Cutter replied. “She needs to settle down. Some wannabee Daddy asshole did a real number on her. She hasn’t overcome the bad treatment.”

“Give it time,” Barron said.

“Yep, along with a surprise peace offering left at the door,” Cutter added.

“Cool move, bud. Did she like it?” Barron asked, revving his engine.

“She was still at work when I called. I’ll find out when I check with her tomorrow. Where’s Johnny G? I thought he was coming?”

Barron turned on his seat. The front door was still open. “Where the fuck did he go? He was right behind me.”

“Hold on, guys. Be right there,” Johnny Gun yelled from inside the clubhouse. A moment later, he rushed out the door and flew down the steps. “I’m ready.” He jumped on his bike.

“Let’s get this show on the road.” Cutter waved and took the lead out the gate.

At the stop sign on Brampton Road, Cutter’s small group slowed. Cutter, having a clear view of the empty road, accelerated instead and turned right. His friends followed him onto Main Street.

Cutter was the MC’s sergeant-at-arms and the most experienced rider; his mind should be on the road and traffic.It wasn’t. His thoughts shifted between Emily’s reaction to the surprise gift and what kind of a situation they would find at this party. The Oquendo men had put him on alert, and he was prepared to expect anything out of those two. Mainly from Chema, the most brazen gangster he’d ever come across, not that he’d met that many in his lifetime.

Up ahead, the traffic light turned red. As Cutter stopped, Barron moved next to him. “We have company.” His voice was loud enough to be heard over their choppers’ noise, but not enough to alert the neighborhood. “In the sideview mirror. Single headlights. About a hundred feet, more or less.”

Checking his mirror, Cutter nodded. It was impossible to confuse the two headlights with a regular vehicle; they were too far apart, and the sound of the engine was unmistakable. “Ignore them unless they get too close. If I swerve, come with me. I’ll give you a sign.”

“You got it,” Barron said.

The riders tailing Cutter and his friends kept the same careful distance the rest of the way to the saloon. Then, about a mile from the hangout, the tails disappeared. The move was done so quickly, he actually missed them turning. If they could be that sneaky, these guys weren’t the bumbling idiots he’d originally believed. Something to remember. He gave a look-behind signal at Barron. His friend nodded in agreement as they reached the corner of Galloway and headed right.

The saloon’s parking lot was jammed. The Oquendo sedan occupied almost two spaces. No biker who knew the car’s arrogant and dangerous owners would be foolish enough to squeeze up to the line and risk a scratch or a ding.

After a second pass, Cutter parked between the edge of the cement and the grass, taking advantage of a streetlight. Barron and Johnny Gun slipped up next to him.

“Are we ready for this?” Johnny Gun asked, his tight brow making two deep lines.

“I guess,” Cutter replied, studying the threesome against the front banister. The make-out session between a tall, buxom blonde and two Chaos guys was hot and heavy. The woman had talent, knew what she wanted, and was going to for it. Giggling and squealing, she clutched the front guy’s shoulder while holding the hips of the man behind. Without missing a beat, she rubbed her breasts against the guy’s chest and ground her butt against the other’s crotch.

This was a pretty explicit scene to be happening outside the saloon. He couldn’t imagine what was going on inside. “Let’s give them space to do their thing.” Cutter chuckled as he walked past the threesome.

Johnny Gun and Barron came around his right and pulled the door open. All three paused at the threshold, taking in the blasting music, roaring laughter, and catcalls. Three dancers, sweetbutts, he guessed initially, wearing skimpy tops, ass-revealing shorts, and construction boots, shimmied, strutted, and sashayed on the bar’s countertop. Below the dancing ladies, Dash and Horse hustled from table to table, delivering pitchers and taking orders.

“Look at those fucks,” Cutter turned to his friends. “Too good for Devils’ Spawn. Reduced to prospect status.”

Johnny G laughed. “They thought the party was for them.”

“Nothing like a little humble pie,” Barron said.

As Cutter continued watching, it hit him: this spectacle had been choreographed and well-rehearsed. Waving dollar bills, the delirious masculine audience reached out to the women. But while the majority of the sloppy-drunk guys missed their target, the crafty dancers carefully allowed a select few to stuff money into their bras and or shorts.

Why?Cutter sent a glance to the big table on the left corner—Diesel’s designated sacred area—where no one but the invited could join in. The Chaos leadership and guests, Chema and Rulo, observed the general revelry with some detachment. The Oquendos’s cold expressions gave Cutter another wave of chills. He glanced at the dancers again, this time with more care, and a new picture opened for him. These women weren’t sweetbutts, the regular adoring fans that flocked to MC clubhouses seeking sex and fun. These were professionals hired for a purpose.

As the noise level rose, the shouting of frustrated men who weren’t getting what they wanted and the threat of violence thickened in the room. A bevy of women emerged from the storage area with perfect timing and waited at the end of the bar.

On cue, Diesel stood and addressed the crowd in a booming voice, “Gentlemen.” The room went silent. “For your pleasure. Courtesy of our Oquendo friends.”

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