Page 144 of Black Flag

“Whatever.” Emmamumbled flipping off the radio and continued to paint her toenails.

By now, she had to havehad at least ten coats on them.

After the long drive,we were all starving. We intended on finding a restaurant but they were few andfar between.

Emma all but jerked thewheel when she saw the only bar along the highway.

We pulled into bar thatwas swarming with Harleys. I had nothing against Harleys or their owners, separately.Put them together though and I swear something happened with their mindset andthey turn into douchebags. If you ride a Harley, don’t listen to me, I’m sureyou’re a nice person, off your bike.

“That’s a biker barEmma,” I pointed out. “weare not stopping here.”

“I’m taking Ms. Sway’sside on this one.” Van examined the parking lot. “Let’s find somewhere else.”

“Too bad,” Emma said.“I’m fucking hungry!”

Before Van could catchher, she was out the door in a mad rush for the biker bar. This had bad ideawritten all over it.

Once Van helped me outof the car, we made our way inside the old dingy bar. It smelled, badly, butthat might be my over active smeller these days. As I looked around, I realizedthe smell was coming from the carpet, actual fucking carpet in a bar.

There were mysteriousstains all over it and I’m sure some were from stabbings that took place by thelooks of the people surrounding us.

We found Emma sittingat the bar with what appeared to be the ringleader of the biker clan. Long greyblack hair, plumped belly, tats, and more piercings than I thought any manshould ever have. Across the back of his worn leather jacket read the words,“Bad Ass Bikers.”

How original.I thought to myself.

I thought I was justthinking this but no, what the fuck would make me think something like that? Isaid it aloud.

Van,whowas close to my side, reached around and threw his terminator-arm-of-steelaround my waist, “Ms. Sway, I think you should keep quiet in here.” His voicewas low and purposefully meant only for me.

I only nodded becausenow the ringleader was giving me the death stare. “Yeah, youottakeep your bitch in check.” Biker Billy barked back atme followed up with a not so intimidating stare.

Now I may only be fivefoot two and weighing in at...well,I’d rather not say these days but I was in no shape with a broken arm and mybaked potato shaped body to be pummeling biker dudes but my hormones controlledme these days and I started to lunge forward toward him.

Van caught me, for goodreason.

He then convinced me tosit next to him, which I did while he ordered a beer along with Emma.

Mydrink?Water with lemon.

Am I adventurous orwhat?

Biker Billy didn’t stopfrom trying to provoke me and hitting on Emma. Out of the corner of my eyes, Icould see Van getting pissed off. Over the last few weeks, he’d grownprotective of us. I knew for sure he was at his wits end when his knucklesbegan to turn white as he gripped his beer.

Funny enough, it wasreassuring being around him. He reminded me of Jameson with his anger whichmakes me feel close to my dirty heathen even with hundreds of miles separatingus. Not that I haveanyattraction to Van, I just felt safe with him.

When the music playingthroughout the bar changed toThe Hurricaneby Bob Dylan, I knew BikerBilly had no idea what type of hurricane could be unleashed upon him if hepissed Van off.

Biker Billy leanedcloser to Emma, rubbing hisfoomanchu. “So therebeautiful,” he said in an extremely gruff voice, marked by his years of smoking.“What do say about going for a ride?”

Emma obviously didn’tunderstand what type ofridehe was referring to.

“I’d love to!” she saidto mine and Van’s horror.

“Emma!” I blurted out.

“What?”

“I think we shouldleave.” Van suggested tossing a fifty on the bar and standing threateninglybeside me. “Let’s go.”

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