Page 3 of A Biker for Noelle
I sit alone on a couch at the back of the bar, the smooth leather pressing against my back as I sip my drink, observing. Smoke hangs heavy in the air, thick with the smell of cigarettes and cheap whiskey, adding to the gritty atmosphere. On the inside, Brewer’s is a typical biker hangout adorned with dark wooden walls covered in patches, old motorcycle parts and memorabilia, worn leather couches, and pool tables.
I run a calloused hand through my hair, the ink on my arm catching the dim light. I look down at the tattoo of the Wolf I had done in memory of my dad because Wolf was his road name. I smile, thinking about my old man. He was a loud-mouthed hardcore ballbuster who loved his family and club. He took shit from no one and protected his own, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Where my old man was loud and robust, I am the complete opposite. My dad gave me the road name Eazy because of my calm demeanor. He used to say nothing could shake me, and that reserved level-headedness, along with my fierce loyalty and love for family and the club, would make me a great man and president someday.
For as long as I can remember, the club has been a fixture in the small mountain town of Ember Falls, Montana, protecting it from outside threats and keeping the peace within. Better yet, the people accept us as we are.
I look around at the other club members, filled with pride. These men are my family, my brothers. We may have rough edges and wild ways, but we always have each other’s backs.
I take another sip of my drink, the whiskey burn warming me from the inside out.
On the other side of the bar, a group of women gathers. I glance at the clock on the wall, watching as the hands tick closer to nine p.m., knowing Poet will soon take the stage for his last set of the night. My brother has a shit ton of talent but no desire to make it big. He prefers the club life and playing for the small crowds here at Brewer’s.
Poet approaches the small table off to the side of me, his guitar in hand. “Prez.” He props it against the wall, spins the chair, and straddles the seat.
I can’t help but smirk as a group of barely dressed women approach him, giggling and batting their eyelashes. They are here to see him perform, gushing over him like teenage girls at a boy band concert.
Poet accepts the attention with a confident grin. “Ladies.”
“Um… could I have your autograph?” the long-haired blonde woman in the bunch fawns.
“Sure thing.” He takes the Sharpie from her. “Where you want it, sugar?”
The woman spins around, lifting her skirt, revealing her bare ass. “You mind?” the woman’s eyes sparkle.
“My pleasure, sugar.” Poet scribes his name on her skin and then gives her ass cheek a playful slap. “Now, you and your friends go over to the bar and tell Brewer there, the big guy with the beard, your drinks are on me.”
The women giggle among themselves and walk away.
Rooster strolls past the women on his way to us after watching the scene unfold. “You plan on sharing any of thatattention with the rest of us, or are you going to hog it all for yourself?” he jests.
I chuckle at my brother’s comment, knowing Poet doesn’t share his women.
Brewer looks across the room at us from behind the bar, getting confirmation about the drinks. Poet nods, letting him know he has the women’s drinks covered. The women turn, continuing to eye fuck my brother.
“You know, you could learn a thing or two from me when it comes to handling the ladies,” Rooster says, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he leans against the wall, drinking a beer.
“The only thing bigger than your reputation is your ego, brother,” Poet banters.
Rooster chuckles. “That’s where you are wrong, brother.” He looks out across the crowded room. “My cock is bigger.”
My eyes fall on Charlie, one of our servers, as she approaches the table with a glass of beer. On the way, a patron reaches out and slaps her ass, causing Charlie to stop in her tracks. Charlie is a beautiful woman with curves in all the right places, fiery red hair, and a temper to match. I wait a beat, knowing Charlie can handle the situation herself.
“Oh, shit.” Poet turns his chair for a better view.
Charlie flashes the man a sweet, seductive smile and shouts above the noise-filled room. “Can I help you?” She remains calm and polite.
The man stands, dragging his drunken gaze up and down her body while licking his lips. “It’s my birthday. How about you give me a present, sweet thang.”
Charlie steps in close, her tits pressing against the man’s chest. I see the lustful anticipation in the man’s eyes and know it’s about to be extinguished. Charlie drives her knee into his groin so hard the man is guaranteed to choke on his nuts. Hisface twists in pain, and he stumbles backward, coughing, then falls to the floor.
Charlie peers down at the unfortunate asshole. “Happy fuckin’ birthday.” She blows the bastard a kiss, then walks away.
The club’s enforcer locks eyes with me a few feet away, and I nod. Grabbing the poor motherfucker by the scruff of his neck, my brother escorts him outside.
With an extra sway in her hips, Charlie continues her approach. “Damn, that felt good.” She smirks, then sits Poet’s beer on the table before him.
“Remind me never to piss you off, darlin’.” Poet lifts his beer. “Thanks.” He downs half of Brewer’s finest draft we offer.
