Page 72 of Tinsel & Chrome

He grabs my wrists and pulls them down. I stare at him, he’s fucking serious. I look at the black vest; the patch reads 'Frosty.'

“Frosty, seriously? You’re not going to have fun with me,” I say, tilting my head.

He’s so fucking tall.

“I don’t fuck little girls,” Frosty says.

“Ember, let’s go,” Heather says, taking my hand.

“Fuck! He’s a fucking iceberg,” I say, looking at Frosty walk back into the club.

“Yeah, they don’t want us here,” Heather says.

“Well, they’re being assholes. We only want to have a little fun,” I say, shaking my head.

*****

“Ember,” Dad yells, knocking at my bedroom door.

I look up, raising my brow, holding up the nail polish.

“Yeah.”

My Dad tries to open the door, but it’s locked.

Yeah, me.

“Ember, open the door! I need to talk to you!”

“I’m busy. What’s up?”

“It’s the time of the year for the Christmas toy drive for the abused kids and kids in foster homes. The bikers want the names of the helpers. You said that you and your girls wanted to sign up this year,” Dad yells, trying the doorknob.

“Yeah, Dad. We’re in. Give me the information where we need to sign up,” I yell, polishing my toenails.

“Right. I’ll leave the paper on the kitchen countertop. This is unacceptable! Next time open the damn door,” Dad yells, hitting the door.

“Yeah, got it.”

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Three

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Frosty

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The next day...

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I lean against the bar and take a long pull of beer. The Brothers are getting wild with hangarounds in the clubhouse. It’s crazy how people stop in to hang around and do all sorts of things that they would never do.

I pull out a cigarette from the box and light up, inhaling deeply. I move my head back to blow some rings.

“Fuck, it’s hot in here,” Psycho huffs, sliding onto the stool. “Prospect, get me a gold beer!”

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