Page 6 of Knocked Up by Her Daddy's Friends

I’m standing outside the Angels of Havoc’s clubhouse trying to build the courage to go inside. It’s still early, barely past five, but even so, there are plenty of people coming and going from the club. From inside I can hear music and the raucous sounds of people partying. I feel a bit ridiculous in what I’m wearing.

I thought I ought to try to look the part, but biker chic isn’t exactly my normal style. I’m wearing some old, ripped jeans that I’ve not worn in years they’re too tight and I feel conscious of how they cling to my round ass. I’m wearing some heeled black boots, and a black corset top that Meghan lent me. It reveals far more cleavage than I’m used to, but I have to admit, my boobs do look good in it and it hugs my waist in, highlighting an hourglass shape I didn’t think I had.

I’m wearing my hair loose, it’s almost to my waist and the thick weight of it feels like a security blanket to hide my bare shoulders. Meghan helped me do smoky eye makeup and I finished the look off with a small black choker necklace. I felt like a different person when I looked in the mirror, confident and sexy, but now I’m here I feel like a little kid playing dress up.

A couple of guys about to go in notice me hovering outside and one calls out to me, “Hey baby, what are you waiting for? Come on inside and party with us.”

The others standing next to him jeer and wolf whistle before heading inside, distracted by a couple of scantily clad women who arrive and seem more than willing to party with them.

God, am I really going to do this?

Just as I’m about to bottle it, I notice a skinny woman in a tiny mini skirt and crop top come out the side of the building, struggling under the weight of some crates filled with empty bottles. She teeters on her heels, almost toppling over. Without thinking I rush over.

“Here, let me help,” I say taking one of the crates from her.

“Thanks,” she says gratefully before showing me where to put it.

With her load relieved, she straightens up and looks at me from under her false eyelashes, her bleached blonde hair is so big it’s a wonder she can hold her head up straight. She scrutinizes me in a not-unfriendly manner.

“I don’t recognize you, you’re new around here?” she asks in a strong southern drawl.

“No, well yes, I’ve not been to the club before,” I reply awkwardly, feeling strangely shy about my accent.

Mom always wanted me to have a better future and believed if I spoke ‘properly’ and politely I’d have a better chance at a good career or finding a rich man. She drilled my accent and language use into me, reprimanding me if I spoke like the other kids at school. Therefore, my accent is pretty neutral, I have a husky tone, but no discernible Texan accent and I rarely curse.

“You don’t look like our usual Club Bunnies… You a good girl looking to be bad? Cos if so honey, this ain’t like the movies these bad boys sure as shit can’t be tamed,” she warns.

I’m not sure what a club bunny is, I assume some sort of biker groupie. “No… I mean… I’m actually looking for my dad. I recently found out he’s a member here, or at least he was.”

She surveys me curiously, “What’s his name?”

“I don’t actually know…” I admit, feeling embarrassed, “But my name is Skye Jackson, perhaps someone might remember my mom, Rose Jackson?” I say using Mom’s maiden name.

The last thing I want is for anyone to make the connection between me and Bill. Luckily, only Mom took Bill’s last name when they married. I point-blank refused. If they follow the local news, I doubt they’d recognize Mom and I’m rarely ever in the photos. Bill, Mom, and Ethan look like the perfect all-American family, I’d only ruin Bill’s image. If I’m ever even mentioned, it’s never by name, so I’m confident no one here will figure out my connection to Bill without digging.

She gives me a not-unkind look of pity, “I don’t know, Hon, but I’ve not been around all that long. The Pres is out now, but you’re welcome to come in and speak to some of the older members and wait for him to come back to see if he knows anything.”

“Thanks,” I reply feeling both grateful and nervous, for all I know, my dad could be in there right now.

“Name’s Tammy, come on in, don’t let them intimidate you, they’re nice guys, so long as you stay on their good side,” she says with a conspiratorial smile.

I follow Tammy inside, taking in my surroundings, it’s dark and smoky inside and filled with various mean-looking bikers and scantily clad women. Some guys are sitting at the bar, a group is shooting pool, and to my surprise and shock, there’s a group playing strip poker in the corner. Two of the women are topless, and one is only in a g-string sitting on the lap of some giant bald-headed man who resembles Dave Bautista. I quickly avert my gaze away and Tammy chuckles.

“Don’t be shy, Hon, they’ll eat you alive,” she advises before hopping behind the bar.

I tentatively sit at the bar and order a beer, sipping it and trying not to draw unwanted attention to myself. I don’t see any of the four men from the other day. I’m surprised at how disappointed I am by that.

“Hey, Diesel, this young lady here’s looking for her old man, says he’s a member but doesn’t know his name, think you can help?” Tammy says, gesturing to a gray-haired man with a goatee.

“I can certainly try. Nice to meet you, young lady,” Diesel says shaking my hand and taking a seat beside me.

“Thank you. I know it’s a long shot, but I’m hoping perhaps someone knew my mom and that I could find him that way, her name was Rose Jackson,” I say tentatively not expecting to have much luck.

“Well, there’s a name I’ve not heard in a long time, Rose Jackson…” Diesel says reminiscing.

“Wait, you knew my mom?” I ask surprised.

“Sure did, she sure was something…” he says with a smile, rubbing his goatee.

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