Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
We clink glasses again as we all cheer together. God, that’s a relief. Hopefully that means my situation just improved a little. Sandra made good on her decision that we needed a night out with the girls who don’t need to worry about getting home in time for bedtime, and so far it’s been a blast.
I almost spill my drink as a guy with facial piercings bounces against me, before we shove him off and let him continue on his way, giggling at how unsteady he is. Three sheets to the wind, at least. Biker bars are freaking wild. And it’s not just because I’m on my second beer.
Being with the other girls means everyone is politely ignoring that I’m not twenty-one yet, but they’re still looking out for me. Flanked by Sandra on one side and Mila and Rory on the other, I’m protected from roving bikers with roaming hands.
It’s hard to hear each other over the loud rock music, and the place is an overwhelming mixture of leather, perfumes, beer and the scent of way too many people crammed into way too small a place.
“Everything okay, ladies?” The bartender’s name is Badass, and he looks like one. He’s built like he could block a football team all on his own, with a trim beard, short brown hair and soulful brown eyes that Natalie—Sandra’s older sister, I have to remind myself as I try to get everyone straight—has fallen completely for, along with… um, Animal and Quickshot, I think it was, but they’re not here.
See? I’m getting it. Maybe I should look into installing a flashcard app when they give me my phone back.
“We’re good!” Sandra spins in her seat while Badass waits patiently for her to come back facing him. “No, seriously, we’re good,” she adds when he gives her a skeptical look. She might’ve had a couple more drinks than me. “Fine. Just having fun.”
“Sure. But I’m keeping an eye on you. Natalie’ll have my balls if I don’t.” He winks. I’m trying to imagine Natalie trying to do anything at all to a man that size if he doesn’t want her to and coming up empty.
Sandra turns to me instead, her expression dramatically exasperated. “No matter where I go, my sister’s got babysitters on me.”
“I can call your guys to come watch you instead,” he offers.
“God no. I’m here with the girls, and we’re having girls’ night. They can have me afterward.”
He snorts. “I bet they fucking will.” Then he finds someone else to help.
The Eagles’ Roost is owned by the Screaming Eagles, from what I’ve been informed tonight. It’s right across the street from the compound, and they own the whole building. They get income, fun, more apartment space and meeting rooms upstairs for people who for whatever reason can’t or won’t come inside the clubhouse.
What it works out to is the rowdiest bar-slash-strip club I’ve seen in my life. Around the bar, there are booths packed with bikers, from the Screaming Eagles and not. Sitting with them and sometimes on them, or wrapped around them in some way, are a lot of women from my age all the way up to those with plenty of gray in their hair. Biker testosterone seems to be catnip for a certain type of woman.
After meeting my own guys, I might be one of them.
Beyond the main bar area, the space dips down to a stage with the obligatory stripper poles surrounded by tables and booths. The woman gyrating on the stage is dancing her way sexily around her pole with a confidence I can only dream about. She’s already lost her top, and I suspect her bottoms will soon follow.
Not that the stage is the only place to find naked people.
The Roost puts the rally to shame. Just glancing around, I’m pretty sure I’ve spotted at least three couples straight up fucking, and all sorts of other couplings happening in the shadowy corners, or in one case, straight out in the open. It’s a surreal world I’ve ended up in, and if I someday have to leave it, I can’t imagine sitting at a normal bar with a glass of wine and feeling anything close to this again.
“So…” Rory begins with a grin. She’s the smartest person in the room, and from what Sandra told me on the way over, some kind of computer genius. Her dad’s that Connor Whittaker, richer than I can ever imagine, and yet somehow she’s still ended up living with a bunch of bikers here in Southside. I can only imagine that story. She holds up her pink cocktail. “Now that you’ve got a little more time under your belt, do you still not think your guys are head over heels for you?”
I laugh at the question. “It’s still only been a few days. Honestly, they’re so good to me, but it can’t last, right?”