Page 36 of Outlaws' Dirty Secret

I get dressed in an outfit similar to what I wore to the party the night of the shooting, but not showing quite as much skin since I don’t want people to get the wrong idea. With about five minutes to spare, my phone rings. Grace.

“Hey! I’m almost ready. Are you on your way over?”

“Lo, I have bad news.”

“What? Noooo. Come on, we haven't been out in forever. You have to come.”

She sighs, not sounding happy about it either. “I’m sorry. You know me, I would drag myself out no matter what, but Terry's exploding from both ends and my stomach doesn’t feel that great.”

“Eeeeeeeeww! Yeah, stay away. I love you, but not enough to want to clean up your vomit in a biker bathroom.”

She makes a horrible noise.

“I mean I would,obviously,” I clarify. “But I don’t want to.”

“It’s fine. I don’t want that either. Next time for sure, okay?” To be fair, she sounds really apologetic. “And you’ll wait for me, right? Don’t go there on your own.”

“Right. Of course not.” Maybe.

On the other hand, I'm already dressed and ready and the bar is only a couple of blocks away. It's a public place. I should be safe. And it's definitely valid book research. If my book actually gets out there, I can write this off on my taxes, even.

The whole walk there I feel guilty, and almost call the guys, but inviting them would defeat part of why I’m going.

Even by foot, it's only a couple streets down from the front gates of the Outlaw Sons compound. It's in an old strip mall, pulled back from the street, making room for a long line of motorcycles in front of it. The building is connected to storefronts on either side, but their windows are blacked out and the doors locked, so I guess they expanded? There's a neon sign over the entry that proclaims it open, and a beefy bouncer standing at the door, watching people entering and leaving like a hawk. Through the open door, cigarette smoke and hard rock seeps out into the night.

After a long drawn breath for courage, I step forwards, prepared to enter the biker den. A couple of guys in biker leather who're smoking outside watch as I approach, but don’t say anything.

“You sure you're in the right place, girl?” The bouncer looks down at me with a curious expression. “If you searched for bars and this popped up, I gotta warn you, this might not be the atmosphere you’re looking for.”

“What? No, I know where I am. No one dared me. I um… I hang with the Outlaw Sons.”

He looks deeply skeptical. “Yeah? Who’s their prez?”

Really? He's going to quiz me at the door? “Hellfire.”

He narrows his eyes. “Give me a couple names.”

This is starting to feel like wearing a shirt with a band on it and getting accused of not being a real fan. Rude. “Um, okay. Blaze, Ocean, Bonnie, Paige…”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Fine, fine. I get your point. Go on in.”

The heady scents of leather and beer wash over me. The floor is worn hardwood, the walls dark and decorated with movie posters and motorcycle paraphernalia. A smoky haze hangs over everything like a cloud. Girls dressed in barely anything are hanging off the arms of grizzled bikers, and the volume of the rock music flowing from the speakers is just on the right side of uncomfortable. It's packed, even on a Wednesday. If this is what it's like now, I can't imagine Friday night.

I get a sucking feeling in my chest that I’m way out of my element and should probably have listened to Grace. But I can't just go home, not without at least getting a drink. I decide toorder a beer and stay long enough to drink it and people watch. I weave my way through the crowd until I find the bar and climb up on one of the stools. Sitting gives me a better view of what's going on, but only a bit. Bike clubs must aim to recruit all the guys who don’t make it pro in basketball and football.

A few people glance at me, but so far it’s… fine? Just like at the club party, I would have to really stand out for people to pay much attention. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m not about to have a nip slip. I probably could have gone slightly less modest without worrying.

Have my guys been here? I’d be surprised if they haven’t. I actually hadn’t thought about the possibility that they could be here. That I could have walked in to find them with girls hanging off of them, or worse. The thought makes me growly, even though I’m here on my own without them.

No, I'm not thinking about them. Not right now. That’s the whole point.

“So can I get you something or are you waiting on someone to buy you a drink? Might want to get a little more proactive if that’s the case. You’re dressed more like an old lady than someone interested in landing herself a man.” The gruff voice belongs to the bartender, a muscular man wearing a denim vest over a white T-shirt that's stretched to the limits around his big biceps. His head is shaved bald and polished to a shine. A gold earring decorates one ear, and tattoos cover his exposed arms and slither up around his neck. “Hello? Earth to whoever the fuck you are.”

I blink, caught off guard. “Sorry, I want a beer, please.”

“Please.” He scoffs, looking skeptical. “Any preference?”

“Whatever’s the most popular.”

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