Page 9 of Ryder

Bronco shakes his head. “Party’s just getting started, plus there’s that new club I’ve got tickets for. They expire this weekend.”

“Fuck that.”

He grips my shoulder. The two of us have been friends for a lifetime, and when Bronco introduced me to Cash, the club Prez, I knew I wanted in. The club has given me the thing I always wanted: a family. I may be shit kicking, but I know that one day I’ll earn my place, and then I’ll be around the meeting table with a patch to my name.

Until that day, I’ve gotta keep my head above water.

“Come on, man, don’t be a stick in the mud.”

“I’m not. I’ve worked eighty hours this week. I’m fucked.”

“Cry baby.” Bronco taps his bottom lip with his finger, making baby noises. “It’s not even eleven, bud, the night is still young, and there’s gonna be a shit ton of pretty girls there.”

“Fine. Let’s get goin’. Sooner we get there, sooner you can find a chick, then I can split.”

“You’re forgettin’ you’re my wingman. Maybe gettin’ some pussy might put you in a better mood.”

As a prospect, you don’t get access to any of the sweetbutts; the chicks that hang around at the club for booze, free grub and sex. In fact, they’re completely off limits. Not that I’ve ever really been interested in sweetbutts anyway. Call me old fashioned, but I kinda cringe at the idea of being with a woman all my club brothers have been with before me. Not that I have any room to be fussy. Still. The brother’s hate it because I never grew out of this baby face, apparently, and women do seem to flock tome. I’ve had more than one beating over the years because I stole some chick without realizing she wasn’t mine to steal. Not exactly my fault.

“Doubt it,” I grumble.

“You’re no fun.”

“So I’ve been told. Let’s get goin’.”

We give Logan a chin lift as we head out. Our sleds are parked out front. I’m not so sure that going into a club with our cuts on is a good idea, but when we arrive downtown, it’s clear we will need to remove them. No point getting into a fight unnecessarily, plus the bouncers on the door won’t let us in dressed like this.

Cash will have a fucking field day if he finds out.

The only good about this club is the free drinks, and I don’t want to think about how Bronco even acquired these tickets. I’m better off not knowing.

It’s loud. Dark, but with flashing lights that blind you every few seconds, and hot bodies grinding against one another. There are fucking stripper poles, but they’re perched higher off the ground, with cages. People are fucking dancing in cages… I guess this club could be looking up after all.

“What the fuck is this place?” I holler to Bronco.

“It’s called The Jungle.”

Of course it is. Normally, I’m not such a pill, but this week took its toll, and I have to be up early tomorrow because as a prospect for the NOLA Rebels MC, you never have days off. If Cash is feeling kind, which isn’t all that often, he’ll give me a day off, but with how busy things have been lately, that isn’t gonna happen any time soon. At least on Sundays I can take my sweet time with what I’m doing, because nobody is ever around or up early enough to check on what I’m up to.

Bronco was right about one thing; there are chicks everywhere. Not that I have the money to be buying my owndrinks, let alone anyone else’s, and let’s face it, chicks don’t expect to buy their own. This whole thing was a bad idea.

We wind up at the bar, and Bronco flashes the free drinks tickets at the bartender. He failed to mention that the drinks on offer were ridiculous looking cocktails. The bartender presents me with a tall glass filled with blue liquid, a slice of pineapple stuck on the rim, and a pink umbrella. I stare at it, then pinch the bridge of my nose. Am I expected to drink this shit?

I turn to Bronco with a questioning look. “You fuckin’ owe me for this.”

He just grins. “I said free drinks, didn’t I?”

“What is this shit?”

“Who the fuck knows, it’s wet. Shut up and drink it.”

“Fucker.”

I glance around the busy floor. The sea of people in every direction makes it impossible to move or take in anything. The music blares, rattling my brain around in my head. I swear I’m getting old before my time.

There’s a group of girls close by taking up an entire booth. One of the chicks with her back to me is wearing angel wings, her long golden hair hanging down her back in waves.

Bronco looks over too as one of the girls starts dancing on the table. Of course, nobody stops her. The other chicks around the table holler and laugh, throwing dollar bills at her. They’re just young, having fun, but they’re also attracting attention. When a group of guys move closer, clearly drunk from their swaying around, it soon looks as if the attention from them isn’t wanted. The girls make faces and one of them shakes her head, turning her back on one of the frat guys.

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