Page 19 of Bounty
“We have it on good authority that Dutch is in the vicinity.”
“Fuck. Are you sure? I heard he wiped out a few years ago.”
“He survived. The Satan’s Sinners only bring him out for special assignments.”
Slice heaved in a breath. “Any recent photos of that slippery motherfucker?”
Striker found a photo on his phone and slid it to Slice. I was close enough to see the picture. Though average-looking, he stood out from the crowd because of his thick, red beard.
“He looks like an artificially swollen scrotum.”
My observation earned a laugh from Slice and Striker.
“Agreed, sweet thing,” Striker said as my mother’s voice traveled to me.
I froze. Slice froze. Striker cocked a brow.
“Oh my god, where’s the music? I leave for an hour and the party dies!” my mother exclaimed, her drunken laughter traveling to me. Thank God I remained in Striker’s secluded corner.
My panic deepened and I turned to Striker.
“Where can we hide?” I whisper-yelled, keeping my voice low so Mom didn’t hear me.
Throngs of people concealed her from view. The clubhouse may have been small, but it was filled to the brim. However, Ididn’t want to draw attention in any way, including talking an octave too loud.
Striker snorted. “This ain’t a sitcom, girlie; I’m not doing all that shit.”
“C’mon, Effie. We can go out through the kitchen,” Slice said, grabbing my elbow.
We hadn’t taken two steps when Striker called, “Aw, shit, y’all come take a seat. Dolph and Raider, get your asses over here!”
I looked at Slice, but he offered no explanations, a theme for this evening. Instead, he guided me back to Striker’s table, slinging an arm around my shoulders once we sat down. Seconds later, two burly men walked over. One of the men—I assumed Dolph—was bald and had a dolphin tattoo on his head. When they eyed me and their gazes lingered on my cleavage, I leaned closer to Slice.
He glanced at me and scowled, glaring at the newcomers. “Watch where the fuck you’re looking,” he snapped, picking up on my tension and discomfort.
The men shifted their attention to him.
Neither looked happy with his interference, but before either spoke and drew attention our way, Striker whispered, “Dolph, Raider, this is Effie, Slice’s ol’ lady. Her pussy’s off-limit, so leave her be.”
“Yes, Prez,” the men chorused.
Striker nodded at their obedience, and Slice relaxed. Their leers creeped me out. When they turned away, I felt profound relief. However, my mother and her readers’ safety concerned me. If Slice hadn’t laid claim to me, I’d be in a pickle. A motorcycle club wasn’t the best place for a group of unprotected women.
“Now, I need y’all fuckers to guard my table.” Striker leaned back against his chair. “Don’t let those book ladies see us, got it?”
The men looked at each other, then back at Striker, their confusion obvious.
Their hesitation pissed their president off, and he barked, “Stop fucking dillydallying and do what I told y’all!”
“Yes, Prez,” they repeated, turning their backs to us as they formed human shields.
“Umm, thanks,” I said, twisting one of my curls around my fingers. “I’ll be in major trouble if she catches us.”
Striker shrugged, taking a swig of his beer. “I wanna see how this plays out. That can’t happen if y’all leave.”
Wow. How generous.
I didn’t appreciate being his amusement, but I had the sense not to say anything. Striker ordered one of the club girls to bring drinks to us. Without complaint, I accepted a beer from a half-dressed redhead. Her pierced nipples caught my attention. My face flushed, and I avoided looking at her tits again.
