Page 107 of Stoker's Serenity

I nodded, and we waited for him to stumble around that way. As luck would have it, he stopped to relieve himself against the cinderblock wall of the watering hole he’d just stumbled out of.

We crept around the back of his shiny new good ‘ol boy pickup and flanked him to either side.

Atlas asked him, “You uh, weren’t planning on driving that shiny new rig of yours drunk, now, were ya?”

“What’s it t’ you, motherfucker?” the guy demanded.

“Might hurt another little girl,” Lightning said at my side, and the guy turned and he did crash, right into my fucking fist.

He went down, but only for a half second before he bounded back up like a rubber fuckin’ ball. Pyro got him though, his arms looped into a full nelson, fingers laced behind the guy’s sweaty neck. Alcohol fumes were coming off of him so bad, I thought my next punch into the dude’s gut might spark off his belt buckle or something and catch us all on fire.

I did the most of the wailing on him, whooped his ass but good. He was on his hands and knees, coughing and retching, and I got down near him.

“You ever fuck with anyone else, the next time? We’ll kill you, you get me?” I demanded, my breath heaving from the workout I’d put in.

He laughed and wheezed saying, “I know you. I’ma run every last one of you fuckers off the road.” He spat, “Fuck you! You fucking fucks.”

“Brave man,” Atlas said dispassionately.

“Let’s beat it out of him,” Lightning suggested, and we stomped his ass into the fucking blacktop.

He wasn’t laughing anymore.

“I think he needs a fucking reminder every time he looks in the mirror that he needs to watch his fuckin’ mouth,” I said, and I knew just what kind of reminder to provide. I exchanged looks with Pyro and he gave a curt nod. He knew exactly what I was thinking.

“Get him up,” Pyro ordered. Atlas took one side, Lightning the other, and they dragged him over to the bumper of his shiny new rig. Pyro grabbed him by his lolling head and positioned his mouth against the front bumper for me.

“Hit it,” he said, and I brought my boot crashing down on the back of the motherfucker’s skull, his teeth and jaw giving a satisfying, juicy crunch against the chrome. The boys dropped him and I wiped my sweating palms against my jeans. None of us were wearing colors. Hell, none of us had even ridden. We’d jacked some stripper’s car from a joint not far from here and ridden in a cage.

We piled back in it, drove back to the strip club where the bikes were parked, wiped down the interior of the car, and left a wad of cash in the center console for the damages. She’d be alright with a story like that for the pigs. They were used to that shit.

We went back inside with the rest of the crew, cleaned up in the john and I dropped into a seat between the captain and Gator. The captain handed over my colors.

“Smooth?” he asked.

“Slicker ‘n owl shit,” I confirmed, and that was that.

A lap dance or two, to get enough of a bitch’s stink-water and body glitter on my shit and we rode out as one big pack later that night after we had our fill of titties and beer. As far as the ol’ ladies knew, we were just out being a bunch of guys, the only one with us was Cutter’s woman, Hope, because she was just as much one of us, but we all knew she would keep her pretty mouth shut.

I wasn’t really down for that last part. The lap dances. The only woman I wanted in my lap was my little orchid. I just wanted home, a shower, and to slip inside her. I guess you could call that the biker’s method of slipping into something more comfortable.

She was curled in her reading chair when I came home, the picture of smart girl, her legs tucked under her like a cat as her eyes skimmed the page of her book open in her lap, an oasis of light in the otherwise-dark room, sitting under a little golden pool of lamplight from her little side table.

She was a sight for sore eyes.

I watched her for several moments until she said, without looking up, a small smile on her lips, “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“No,” I told her, my voice husky with desire.

She looked up, her smile faltering as her dark gaze fell upon my face.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded.

“I had a good time,” I answered.

She frowned.

“I don’t understand.”

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