Page 13 of O'Mega's Revenge
“Charming. Tell me, are all bikers bred from Neanderthals, or did I happen on the dregs of the gene pool?”
She spoke awful fancy for a hooker. I suppose some men got off on that.
I grunted in answer. Sometimes it’s best not to say a goddamn word.
But that only got her more interested. Lucky me.
“Cat got your tongue, Wolf?” People use your name to create a false impression of intimacy. You’re supposed to be honored they know who you are. But men like me don’t want to be remembered. The more incognito you go, the better.
“Go bother someone else.”
“Why? When it is so interesting to bother you?” Her fancy lips went into a little moue as she sipped her drink and eyed me from top to bottom. There was a calculating gleam in her eyes I didn’t like. Then she licked her lips in an attempt to be seductive. Ask any guy, and they’ll tell you that shit doesn’t work. It’s the ones that light up from inside when they talk to you that get your dick hard. Not some dead-eyed bitch with an agenda.
Maybe she thought she had some sort of immunity because she was the lady getting paid tonight. But the way I saw it, once she walked in that door, she became an employee of the Destroyers, even if temporarily. And as such, I was one of many bosses tonight.
My drink hit the bar and I motioned to the speck behind it to take out the trash. It was done wordlessly. A brush of finger against the nose, a command he’d have to obey if he wanted to earn his patch. As soon as he said, “Ma’am, you have to leave,” I was in motion.
Three fingers in the air, our boys on the door, and five of my brothers nearby, we had her bodyguards neutralized almost instantly. Every single one of them had a man tagged to them. We rotated every fifteen minutes to avoid their suspicion. One made a fuss as he went down.
Blood flowed. Can’t say it was the wildest party we ever held, but there’s nothing like a good fight to get the heart pumping.
“You’ve made a grave mistake!” the bitch kept screaming all the way past the bonfire.
The rest of the ladies began to panic, without their boss-lady in sight. I whistled through two fingers to get their attention.
“Yo, listen up! Any bitch hooking gets 100% of the take for the rest of the night. You wanna leave, go for it. The rest of you, well, enjoy the fuck out of your stay.”
The music went back up, and not a single girl walked out the door.
Mistake, my ass. It’s a free country, and if people wanna work, they don’t need someone taking a percent off the top.
Chapter Four
“Oh fuck.” Sprout took one look at the line of bikes in the driveway and groaned.
“What the hell, Trot? Did you invite the entire region?” I gaped at the range of bikes. I knew my sisters’ rides, but there were more here than we owned. Near the end, my rat bike held down a spot, looking like a pile of rusted garbage next to a bright pink sportster with kittens on the gas tank.
“I might have mentioned it.”
“Wolf is going to kill me. Shit, sorry Sprout, I didn’t plan this.”
He took in the range of rides. A crooked smile on his face. “Every one of these is ridden by a bitch? Cool. Danielle is going to want one. Fucking-A.”
The man had motor oil for blood and exhaust for brains. Newly wed and determined to bring his very shy wife into the biker fold as fast as possible, he was also a third-generation biker. His grandfather and father living and dying for the Destroyers.
He hopped out and held the door open so we could file inside. Biker-mama trained her boy right.
The lake house was a 3000-square-foot spread with two levels. As you entered the top level, you looked through a couple of glass walls surrounding a sculpture atrium to the deck beyond. Past that, the hill sloped down to a man-made lake. Danielle’s grandfather bought the entire end of the lake and built a modest mansion. It was her grandmother who insisted on the hoity-toity shit. Story is, he built it, then dumped her for the interior decorator. He died before her bastard was born, and Danielle’s grandmother rode the money train into the mayor’s chair.
When her grandmother was murdered, Danielle and Sprout landed together. A pampered princess and a biker. Weirdest combo ever. But I saw them fall in love right before my very eyes and knew it wasn’t wrong. Danielle had been a frightened recluse, and Sprout, well, he needed her to offset his sweet stupidity.
Danielle held court with Sprout’s mom in the entertainment lounge to the right of the sculpture room. There were three clubs’ worth of DHMC in attendance. Damn. I slipped through, not interested in making conversation. Trot followed me, with Missile on her heels, leaving Sprout in the mob. Last glimpse I had; he was lifting his shirt.
“What’s this shit about mattresses?” Trot must have gotten the low down from Missile when I was with Wolf. Damn it. I should have been the one reporting that. I swallowed.
“Eight,” Missile pointed out.
“Jesus. How many women?”
