“No, what she really needs to do is screw him and dump his ass,” Em said, shivering with delicious glee. “He’s hot, she should just nail him. Is he any good, Kimber?”
“Don’t you dare,” I warned my friend, holding up a hand to her face. “Mouth. Shut.”
“Wait a minute! Party planning aside, we’re forgetting an important part of why we’re here,” Marie said suddenly. She turned to me. “I can’t believe we haven’t talked about work, Sophie. Sex is just way more interesting. Has Ruger mentioned a job?”
“No,” I said, more than ready for a change of subject. “I’m going to start looking on Monday. He said something about working for the club, but it seems a little weird to bring it up after this morning.”
“I manage a coffee shop for a friend,” Marie told me. Maggs, Em, and Dancer sobered, exchanging glances I couldn’t quite read. “I could really use some help in the mornings, if you have a way to get Noah to school. You’d be done by the afternoon when he gets home.”
“Um, I can look into it,” I said, wondering if my neighbor would help get Noah on the bus for me. Or maybe they had one of those morning drop-off programs?
“I think she should be a stripper at The Line,” Kimber piped up. Marie’s eyes widened.
“No way,” she said, her distaste visible. “That place is disgusting.”
“It’s a good way to earn money,” Kimber insisted. “Perfect for a single mom. She could work two nights a week and be with Noah every day. How is that a bad thing?”
“Um, the part where she sucks some stranger’s cock?” Marie asked. “I’ll bet Ruger would just looove that.”
“What?” I demanded. “I thought we were talking about dancing. No sucking cocks. Deal breaker!”
“We are talking about dancing,” Kimber said, rolling her eyes. “Nobody makes you work the VIP rooms. Totally your choice. Or you could waitress. They don’t make as much money, but they still do pretty well. Especially if you’re nice to the dancers. They’ll tip out if you treat them right.”
“You do not want to work there,” Marie insisted. “Seriously, most of those girls are whores. Not talking about you, Kimber, but the rest of them? You can’t trust that place for shit.”
“No, I was a whore,” Kimber announced blithely. “If by ‘whore’ you mean I got guys off for money. Mostly hand jobs, but if he’d pay enough I’d go down on him. Now I own a gorgeous house, I have a degree, and I even started a college fund for my kid. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
We all looked at her.
“Oh, seriously?” she asked, rolling her eyes. “You girls live in a fucking motorcycle gang. You really think you should judge me?”
“Club,” Em said. “It’s a motorcycle club. Being part of a club isn’t a crime, you know.”
“Whatever,” Kimber replied, waving her hand. “I own my body. It’s totally mine, and what I do with it is my business. I danced for guys, I touched them sometimes, and they gave me lots of money. How many women get groped every day by strangers? At least I got paid up front for it. I’d do it again, and I think Sophie should, too, if she really wants to provide for Noah.”
“No way,” I said, shaking my head.
“Working at The Line isn’t a bad idea,” Maggs said, surprising me. “I tended bar there and did pretty well. That’s how I met Bolt.”
“And did anyone bother you?” I asked. She shook her head.
“It’s a controlled environment,” she said. “Nobody gets in without security knowing. They keep an eye on everything. Even in the VIP rooms, security’s always right outside the door. I was probably safer there than I am at home.”
“Did you … I can’t think of a better way to ask this, so I guess I’ll just spit it out. Did you have to walk around naked?”
“No,” she said, smirking. “Servers at The Line are like furniture from IKEA. Okay to look at, but not what you want to draw attention to. I wore a black bustier, a short black skirt, and dark tights. Blended right in.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” I said. Marie scowled and shook her head, but Maggs grinned at me.
“I’ll introduce you to the manager tomorrow,” she said. “He’ll be at the party. And you’re coming—no negotiation. If you don’t figure things out with Ruger, maybe you’ll come home with a job.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
RUGER
“Huge fuckin’ mistake,” Deke declared. He stood in the center of the Armory’s second-story game room, surrounded by officers from almost every Reapers charter. Usually they had church downstairs, but there wasn’t enough space for all the visiting brothers below. This group included both national and local chapter officers, and whatever decisions they made would be binding on the whole club.
“We can’t trust them, we all know that,” Deke continued. “What kind of dumbfuck sticks his head in a noose? We do this, we deserve everything we get.”
Picnic sighed and shook his head. Ruger leaned against the wall behind him, wondering how much longer they’d be going over the same points. He wanted this over with, because he’d been wound up tighter than hell since yesterday morning.
Sophie tied him in fuckin’ knots.
Not even a blow job from one of the club whores had helped. She’d barely gotten his pants open when he’d started thinking about Sophie and Noah, and it was all over. Last night he’d been surrounded by thirty of his best friends and brothers, more booze than he could drink, and free pussy on tap, and he was still fuckin’ bored. All he really wanted was to go home, read Noah a bedtime story, and then fuck Sophie’s brains out.
Picnic shifted, the sound of his chair scraping pulling Ruger out of his thoughts.
They’d been at it for nearly two hours, and so far nobody had changed their positions on the truce. Most of the men wanted to give it a shot. Ruger agreed. He thought the Jacks were walking, talking bags of shit, but at least they were a known quantity. They understood the lifestyle, and all other issues aside, they were still bikers. He wasn’t ready to throw down for a Devil’s Jack, but backing off for the duration? That made sense.
Deke disagreed.
Strongly.
“Anyone else want to talk?” asked Shade. The big man with spiky blond hair and a nasty scar across his face was the national president, a position he’d held for less than a year. Ruger didn’t know him well, but what he’d heard was good. Shade lived in Boise, although he’d made noises about moving farther north.
“I got somethin’ to say,” Duck announced, boosting his big body up off the couch. In his late sixties, Duck was the oldest member in Coeur d’Alene. One of the oldest members in the entire club, actually. He wasn’t an officer, but nobody was stupid enough to tell him he couldn’t talk. Ruger knew whatever he said could be the tipping point.
“I hate the Jacks. They’re cocksuckers and assholes, we all know it. That’s why it hurts me so much to admit this, but I think we should give the truce a shot.”
Ruger cocked his head—hadn’t seen that coming. A Vietnam vet and fighter from day one, Duck had never been the voice of peace.
“Here’s the thing,” Duck continued. “That little prick Hunter is onto something. We’re the same kind of men where it counts. We know what life is really about, and that’s the freedom to ride and live on our own terms. We joined this club because we don’t give a shit about citizens and their rules. I’ve always taken what I wanted when I wanted it, no apologies. I live free. Any laws broken along the way are just collateral.”
Brothers around the room murmured in agreement—even Deke.
“These kids moving in, though, they’re not like us,” Duck said, looking around, pinning each man with his eyes in turn. “They’re. Not. Like. Us. They got no freedom and no reason to live, aside from making money. They wake up every morning plannin’ to break the law, which means the law rules their lives. I’m not scared to fight, you all know that, but why fight when we can let the Jacks do it for us? Live to ride, ride to live. Not just words, brothers. Anything gets in the way of living and riding is a waste of my time, and that includes fighting the cartel.”