Page 31 of Red's Peril: Part 1

A man’s got to prove he’s got his brother’s back, even in little things that don’t much matter.

“Hey, you hear about that hangaround, Jeff something?”

“Jeff Andrews?” I ask, pushing my safety glasses up my nose and pulling on my gloves. I’ve gone without wearing a helmet for months now. It might not be safe, but sure is one thing less to worry about. I straddle my seat. “What about him?”

“He’s going to be voted on as becoming a prospect.”

“Is there a vacancy?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Wraith smirks. “I’m kinda hoping there will be.”

“He’s a good man,” I tell him. “I got to talking to him a week or so back. Got a background in explosives. Useful if we ever want to blow shit up.”

Wraith raises his chin and we set off, me opening the gates, and then closing and locking them behind us.

When we arrive at Satan’s Angels, we park around the back. The building is empty, but Wraith’s got the keys. It’s not the first time I’ve been here during non-working hours, and it amuses me how under the harsh lights, the place looks nowhere near as magical as it does when the girls are dancing on the stage.

It’s one of the club’s major money earners, but hadn’t always been that way. Back in Bastard’s day, the members saw the strippers as an extension of their sweet butts, club pussy they could use anytime with the result the dancers were only those who were desperate for money. Drummer cleaned that shit up. Members are now one hundred percent hands off, and the girls trust us to protect them. While, for most, it was never their childhood dream to end up earning their living taking their clothes off, the fact that they get good money and are protected means the dancers we attract are top notch. Our earnings have gone up as a result.

“Where the fuck do you think he left it?” Wraith’s completing his third circuit of the main room.

“It’s not in the office or the heads.” I take my phone out of my pocket and stare at it. Then, taking a breath, place the call.

“Lefty, we’ve looked… Right?” I swear under my breath and send a fierce glare in Wraith’s direction. “Oh, that’s good then. We’ll be right back.” Ending my call, I answer Wraith’s unspoken question. “Fucker had it on him all the time.”

Wraith snorts. It’s par for the course. No point getting worked up.

Chapter Twelve

Three months later

Wraith’s beaming like the cat that’s gotten the cream, and I don’t blame him. I stand, leaning on the bar, pleased as fuck for my friend as he gets back slaps all around. I envy him for getting his patch, but fully expect my time will come.

I even keep a smile on my face as he approaches and demands with a huge smirk, “Beer, Prospect.”

I bump the fist he’s holding out. “Coming right up, sir.”

The new prospect, a good-looking bald-headed man who’s picked up the name Slick, after having unfortunately had an encounter with oil on the road resulting in dropping his bike on his first ride out with the club, nods at me as he reaches past to get Drummer’s favourite whisky from the top shelf. Wraith’s patching-in party is going to be a busy night.

Beer in hand, Wraith turns and surveys the room. As he does, the new sweet butt, Raquel, who’d come to one of our parties a month back then stayed on, approaches him with a practised smile on her face. When she’s close enough, she slides her hands under his cut and pouts those overpainted lips.

“Want to have some fun?”

I expect he does, but her fake tits would put me off. I prefer them real myself. There’s something about her I don’t like, but pussy’s pussy, I suppose, and anything is welcome after you’ve been wandering in a desert for months.

Slick nudges my arm as he sees the pair walk off. “She’s a bitch,” he tells me, quietly. “Pussy’s already talking about getting her chucked out. She’s getting above herself. Proper patch chaser there.”

“She won’t get that from Wraith.” In the moment’s lull, I lean on the bar, watching the new member walk off with the sweet butt toward the crash rooms.

“Nah, but she’ll try. They think all newly made-up members are fair game. Did you see Carmen slap her yesterday?”

“No?” I turn with my eyebrow raised at that tidbit of gossip.

“Yeah, she was coming on to Bullet, wouldn’t take no for an answer. Carmen had to shut that shit down fast.”

Bullet and Carmen are tight as thieves. I’ve never seen him unfaithful to her, and as a prospect, I’ve seen quite a lot. Viper, for instance, swears he isn’t unfaithful to his wife, or not as he sees it as he never shares his cock, but he’s not averse to getting blow jobs from the club girls. Whether Sandy’s aware of his proclivities, I don’t know. No one here would tell her.

I stay sober, it’s expected. I might have a couple of beers, but that’s my lot. I get my amusement watching the action going on around me.

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