Page 83 of The Order of Disorder
They look at me, heads tilted, sizing me up. Finally, Maze says, “We gotta bring her to him.”
He lifts one of my arms, slides his around my back, and hauls me to my feet. My legs buckle instantly. He catches me with a grunt, holding tight.
“Put your feet flat and stand on them, honey,” Rox says gently.
I look down to see my bare feet curling over, toes on the ground. I consider for a moment if I even could flatten my feet if I wanted to. Maybe, but it seems like too much work.
“Fuck,” says Maze.
Rox bends down and touches both feet, placing them on the ground.
“‘Kay,” she says. “Try walking now. You have to.”
Maze steps forward and reflexively my feet start moving, one in front of the other, even though Maze is holding up most of my weight. I feel him sigh against me and we move forward to the door. He hoists me up against his hip and carries me down the three metal steps. And then they walk me toward the stage—and Billy.
The last rays of sunset have dropped below the horizon, and under the dark sky the lights from headlamps and string lightsand barrel fires makes the event look even more bacchanalian. Hundreds of people mill around the stage.
Billy is commanding the spotlight, mic in hand now, no sign of the woman on stage with him anymore, welcoming a group of men who file up beside him.
“Let’s hear it for the real kings of the road,” Billy booms. “On my right, Lucas of the Grave Sons and Reaper Jack of the Iron Order, our closest allies. On my left, Snake of the Vagos and Big Mike of the Mongols, neutral but respected. And let’s not forget Red of the motherfucking Bandidos,” he finishes with a grin, “trying to stay in my good graces tonight.”
Red just grins and nods. The crowd roars, each name drawing a surge of cheers and wolf-whistles.
A row of folding chairs lines the back of the stage, but the presidents stand, fanning out in a line behind Billy, a wall of leather and muscle.
As Maze escorts me up the side steps, Billy turns. His expression falters when he sees me.
He covers the mic and leans away, speaking to Maze. “What the hell? She looks like shit.”
Maze shrugs, deferential but defensive. “Did my best, man. She’s a mess.”
Billy exhales sharply, then pastes his grin back on and steps center stage, voice booming again. “Now, everyone say hi to Max. She’s been part of the O.D. family a long while, and for me, she’s always been a good luck charm. Every time I took a win, I had her nearby. So tonight, we’re going to put her to the test and see if she can bring any luck to the other clubs.”
He gestures broadly, drawing attention to me as Maze gently lowers me into a chair placed center stage. I slump down, weightlessness spreading like smoke in my bloodstream.
Billy paces in front of the line of presidents. “She may look like she’s used up some of that luck, but don’t worry, gentlemen. She comes with a few simple instructions for use.”
He lifts his hand theatrically.
“Here’s how it works. A kiss on the cheek, start your engines right. A little lap dance, feel the rhythm. A boob squeeze, double your chances. Flash her to the crowd, overtake the frontrunner. And a kiss on the lips?” He pauses, grinning wickedly. “Seal the fucking deal.”
Laughter erupts. Red from the Bandidos calls out, “What if we want a private blessing?”
Billy doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, if you’re falling behind, maybe it’s time to take Max backstage and try your luck the old-fashioned way.”
The crowd erupts into raucous cheers. The sound rolls over me like a wave crashing, indistinct and far away. I’m floating over the surface of it all. The lights smear when I blink. Everything feels three seconds too late.
“First heat’s live in ten!” Billy calls. “Representing the Mongols, Iron Order, and our little brothers, the Grave Sons. Who wants the edge?”
Big Mike of the Mongols, a wide-chested man with a belly to match, steps forward and drops onto the chair beside me, throwing an arm around my shoulders.
“Gimme all the luck you’ve got, sweetheart,” he says, then plants a sloppy, drawn-out kiss on my mouth.
My eyes don’t close. My body doesn’t react. I notice the pores on his nose and the folds in his eyelids as he pushes his tongue into my lifeless mouth.
He pulls back and smacks his lips. “Fuck, I feel luckier already.”
Cheers, shouts, laughter. It all blurs into one roaring noise.
