Page 9 of Dash

And damn, her ass in leather. It was a thing of a beauty.

“Shall I switch to Blow Pops? Or Tootsie?” Dash teased when he put the cigarette back in his mouth for another drag.

“Dum Dums,” Romeo suggested without missing a beat.

As though reminded that she had candy, her green eyes lit up. She turned to rifle the saddlebags on her man’s silver Fat Boy like a tweaker digging for a score. Triumphantly, she twirled toward them and held up a lollipop—her true addiction. Everyone had a habit.

After unwrapping it, she stuffed the plastic into her jeans pocket. The candy disappeared into her mouth and she leaned against Romeo, nuzzling into him. They sat for a moment, Dash smoking, Sparrow sucking on some sugar in silence as she cuddled with Romeo.

As though to further delay going into the clubhouse, once they dismounted the bikes, they lingered in the parking lot. Perhaps they needed a minute to stretch their legs from the ride. Dash suspected it had more to do with delaying facing reality.

Out of respect, Dash took a few steps away from them while he puffed on his cigarette. They didn’t need to be in his smoke cloud. After a few paces, he exhaled out of his nose instead of removing the butt from between his lips. When he first started smoking, he enjoyed doing it that way, because he imagined himself as a dragon.

At thirty-two years old, he still did. Old habits die hard.

The front of his pocket vibrated. He kept the club burner phone on him, but his personal phone went to a prospect. Anytime any patches went out of town for club business, it was standard protocol for patched members to leave their personal devices behind. Prospects would keep up their normal routine in case anyone wanted to tap into GPS’s on their phones or whatever. Paranoid maybe, but someone in the club watched a lot of cop shows.

With the sudden departure and the interrupted scene, he’d given the prospect specific instructions to let him know when Alice texted him. He expected the envelope on the front of the burner.

Prospect: Alice wants to know if she’ll see you Tuesday.

Tuesday? They didn’t have plans for Tuesday. Fuck. Tuesday was the monthly munch. Nope, wouldn’t be making that for a while.

Dash: Let her know I’ll give her a call tomorrow. Busy right now.

Prospect: Will do.

Flipping the phone closed, he took a deep breath. Ending their arrangement over the phone wasn’t ideal, but he didn’t know when he’d be back in Montana. Better to do it now than to string her along. He didn’t want to lie or have her thinking he used his relocation as a reason to stop playing with her. He’d tell her the truth.

Taking two quick drags off the cigarette, he headed back to Romeo and his woman. Clark may have no problem keeping his brothers waiting, but it made no sense to Dash. Once he got back to them, he twisted the cherry off the end of the cigarette, leaving just the filter. He popped it into the pack, which he slid back in his pocket after he’d scanned the area for a place to ditch the butt and found nothing. Discarding it in the lot was disrespectful. He’d find an ashtray later.

In his search, he’d noted the younger biker pushed his woman against the wall. Her lollipop was in her hand while he groped her gratuitously. He shouldn’t take so much delight in what he was about to do, but when it came to Romeo and Sparrow, he’d been interrupting them since they’d met. Who was he to break with tradition? They had to expect it by now.

Dash whistled obnoxiously loud, and they parted abruptly, like two teenagers caught making out on a field trip. It was all he could do not to laugh in their faces. Satisfied he’d thoroughly ruined their moment, he winked in response to Romeo’s glare and Sparrow’s one finger salute. They loved him—in their own way.

He lifted his chin toward the door. “Let’s get this show on the road.” Falling in line, the trio made their way to the entrance. Seeing their cuts, the prospect nodded and let them in.

Kid Rock’s I am the Bullgod greeted them on the other side of the door, playing over the steady hum of conversation. While smaller than the one in Montana, Ohio’s clubhouse maximized space. To the right, the bar had a full kitchen behind it. Opposite that, across from the open space filled with bodies enjoying Odin’s Fury’s hospitality, the room where they held church.

Dash recalled cramming in there when they’d voted for the patch over six months ago. Sparrow’s boyfriend had shot Romeo during the club merger and Dash had been the one to take care of him since gunshot wounds at hospitals always meant questions from cops. Something Ohio didn’t need. It’d been a fucking shit show that night. This clubhouse did not have a good history for them, and he didn’t feel comfortable there.

Beyond the door for church was a hallway which housed the president, vice president, and treasurer’s offices. Together, the trio moved past tables, a pool table, and some couches scanning faces, searching for someone they knew.

Odd thing. In Montana, the main room of the clubhouse always had a haze about it. Nothing too thick, but there seemed to be a permanent stench of cigarettes and weed. The moment the thought hit him, Dash could’ve kicked himself. Bowie was fucking dying of cancer. They probably cut that shit out inside a long ass time ago.

Shaking it off, he continued to look for Clark. Along the back wall was a door to the outside stairs, and the bathrooms. The second floor had a lofted hallway and small bedrooms for the officers. Romeo had recovered in one of them. Damn, Dash really needed to get some better memories of this place. Especially if Monty needed him to stick around and be VP for a while.

Meandering through the hang arounds and women, literally, hanging around, he kept an eye out for names on patches he knew. Faces he remembered. One or two looked familiar, but not enough to approach. They hadn’t exactly mingled all that well last time.

The party was in full swing. Some women were topless. One did a shot off another on a table with a prospect and two brothers cheering them on. Squinting, he couldn’t make out their names, and the bitches kept squirming around so he couldn’t get a good look at their faces.

Giving up for now, he got a drink. With a tap on Romeo’s shoulder to get his attention, he brought his hand to his mouth, trying to mime drinking, and then glanced to the bar.

A woman in a bikini tended the bar, and he had to admit, it was a better sight than the one he’d become accustomed to at home. She had a prettier face than Teller. It had to be the handlebar mustache—it wasn’t his thing.

“Beer?” he asked the couple once he faced them again.

“Jameson,” Romeo responded as he pushed through the people toward the offices. Considering the guy was dying of lung cancer, it’d be unlikely he’d be out hanging with the crowd. Dash suspected Bowie was in the hospital or home. Either way, Clark would know, and since the current VP wasn’t mingling, he’d probably be in his office.

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