Page 37 of Outlaws' Dirty Secret

He narrows his eyes. “What’s most popular is what’s cheapest. I’m going to pick for you.”

“Oh, um, okay?” Now I’m glad I didn’t ask what kind of wine they have.

“You meeting someone?” he asks as he pours a pale golden beer from a tap into a tall glass.

“If not, she just did,” a deep voice says from behind. “What's a sweet girl like you doing at a place like this?” A big guy drops into the stool next to me, beer glass in one hand and the other resting on his belt. His beard is thick and red, and his right ear has spiky studs in it. His open leather vest has a patch over the left breast that says, “Blitz.”

He's handsome. Built like a professional athlete, colorful ink covering his arms, ticks all the biker boxes, but I don't feel even a hint of thrill. He just makes me wonder where Blackout, Skyhigh and Dragon are. I flash Blitz a smile to be friendly. “I’m Willow.”

“Nice to meet you, sweetheart. This is a rough place.” Putting his elbow on the bar, he leans in closer, just far enough into my personal space to make me want to back up a little. “Pretty girl like you probably shouldn't be alone in here.”

He's not being aggressive, exactly. Not even pushy, but there's an implication there that I find uncomfortable. It can be so hard to tell whether someone's being earnest or is coming at you with ulterior motives. “Thanks, but I think I’ll be okay.” I take a big gulp from my beer, willing it to go faster.

“Hey, relax. I'm not trying to give you trouble.”

I glance at the bartender who’s chatting to a couple of guys at the other end of the bar, his back to me.

“I know. You’re fine. I'm just not looking for company right now.” I push my glass away from me, prepared to leave without finishing it if this is going to be an issue.

“Hey, you fucking with my girl?” A burly biker with the shoulders of an ox and a buzz cut presses in, leaning his hand on the bar behind me and leaning over to thrust his face right into Blitz's business. He's so close I have to lean forward to not be plastered right against him.

“I’m not your?—”

“Shush.” The burly guy cuts me off with a wink.

“Get the fuck outta my face.” Blitz pushes himself to his feet, slipping off the bar stool and bumping into the new guy. “She's not your damn girl.”

Burly guy shoves him right back. “Not yours either, so fuck off. Or you wanna fight for her? Think you got a chance against me?”

That’s enough of that. I push off the stool to leave, when Blitz stops me with a big hand on the small of my back. “Don't touch me,” I snap at him.

At this point, the bartender’s noticed something’s wrong and is coming our way. “Rein it in, boys.”

“Keep your ass outta this, Hector,” burly guy growls, just before Blitz slugs him in the face.

20

WILLOW

All hell breaks loose.The burly biker roars and throws Blitz so hard into the bar that one of the bar stools actually pulls loose from the floor. The metallic shriek of the bolts bending is loud enough to cut through even the heavy music.

But it doesn’t stop the fighters.

Blitz launches himself onto the burly guy's back and is trying to choke him out, but not having much luck.

The fight spreads like wildfire, and I don't know if they're friends or just bystanders who want in on the mess, but they sure are enthusiastic. Most of the girls take off, running as fast as they can from the growing brawl, but I'm stuck right in the middle with no clear exit. Someone bumps into me and I have to catch myself on the bar to keep from falling.

Scared of getting trampled, I hug the bar and I make my way deeper into the crowd. I'd rather head for the exit, but there's a sea of fighting bikers between me and there, and first I need to get out of immediate danger.

An arm catches me in the side, launching me in the wrong direction. Suddenly, I'm in the thick of the melee, getting shoved around like a pinball. I scream, trying to push my way out, but it's like trying to push through a football defensive line. There's no space, everyone's angry, and while no one's attacking me directly, no one's watching out for me either. I look around desperately, but everyone nearby is either in the fight or busy trying to stop it.

Someone barrels right past me, slamming into a table. The loud crack of splintering wood sounds like gunfire, and I feel the cloud of dust and splinters brushing past my face. Then something hits me in the gut, making my breath hitch. I roll to the side, gasping and clutching my stomach as a burst of pain pulses through me. Someone steps on my foot, only briefly, and then I'm pulling myself into a corner, using the remains of the table for cover. It’s not perfect, but if I curl up small maybe I can wait out the fight.

I get my phone out and tap the number Blackout gave me to let him know when his mysterious letter came.

It rings only once before he answers. “Is this a booty call? What kind of man do you think I am?”

“I'm at the Burnout!” I cut him off. “There's a fight, and I'm trapped right in the middle of it and?—”

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