Page 5 of Rider Daddies
“You have many of those.”
“Let me finish.” He huffs a sigh. “I was going to say, I want a foreign girl. You know, like a European beauty with attitude. American girls are great, but after a while, everything starts to feel the same. The accents…the names…”
Ryderdoeshave a point. The clubhouse whores here are beautiful, but they’re all copies of one another. Being so far away from the city cuts you off from the rest of the world. Aside from the fact that I wanted to fight for my country, joining the military was also about getting to go to foreign war zones. I’ve always found it thrilling to switch things up and jump into the unknown.
I don’t expect a sex addict like Ryder to understand that. He only wants a European girl because he’s played the field and done his laps. That’s the downside of Ryder; he’s always searching for the next best thing. When he doesn’t get his way, he gets physical. It’s how he got the crooked nose—I punched him right in the face when I was fourteen years old. He knows how to wind people up. Knows how to get under your skin, nagging until he gets his way, like most younger brothers. If it wasn’t for his physical strength, I think he would do well in sales.
There’s a lull in the crowd, so I take the opportunity to clean things up. We’ve had a few employees working at the bar, some full patch members wanting to earn a bit more cash. The trouble is, I run a very tight ship. If things aren’t done my way, the employees have to go.
I like my life here. It’s simple. When I’m not working, I go for rides through the desert and feel the wind on my face. When Iamworking, I serve drinks, make sure things are under control, and go to bed with a woman if I’m feeling up to it.
I used to think about the whole marriage and kids setup, falling in love with a woman and taking her out for dinner, but those dreams ended with my parents’ lives. The pain in my chest was unbearable. I wouldn’t even wish it on my worst enemy. I don’t think I could go through that pain again and come out whole.
I pour beer into a glass for Saint and take it over to him in the DJ booth. He wears a pair of soundproof headphones, bopping to the beat. When he sees me, he lowers the headphones and thanks me.
“Some good selections tonight, bro.”
“Thanks.”
Ryder, Saint, and I are all two years apart in age. Saint was thirteen when our parents died. He didn’t take it well, but I think the music got him through it okay. He’s the guy a lot of the clubhouse girls go to when they want to be held and showered with affection. I think that has something to do with his brown doe eyes, and the charismatic way he presents himself.
It’s all an act that he does to get laid, but I’ll give it to him—it works.
“Typical,” Saint says, gesturing out into the crowd to Ryder. “The only reason he works as security is so he can use it as a chat-up line on the girls.” Saint rolls his eyes, body moving in time to the beat. “I was flirting with Felicity earlier tonight, and now he’s fucking gone and stole her from me.”
We watch together as Ryder maneuvers through the crowd, holding her hand. Although we do generally get along, being brothers does cause conflict when it comes to the ladies. At the end of the day, there’s only so many clubhouse whores, only so many women to choose from. There’ve been a few clashes in the past. It normally leads to one of us punching the other, and then Grizzly getting involved. He understands that we’re brothers, but at the end of the day, he says that if the arguing starts to reflect badly on the club, getting us into trouble, he might have to start taking badges.
Which is what none of us want.
“The fucking cheek of him.” Saint has stopped moving now, body frozen.
“You know what he’s like. Just leave him to it.”
“You sound like fucking Mom, Ash.”
Sometimes, I have to assign myself as parent to get these two reckless youngsters in check.
“He needs to be manning the door. Molester Manual is still on the loose, don’t forget.”
Ah yes, Molester Manual. The sex trafficking crime lord who has reportedly been on the prowl around Vegas, sweeping up women and girls to throw them into his sex ring. There was some trouble with him six months back that we’ve been trying to stamp out, but everything has been quiet since then.
“The cops must have found the bastard.”
“You think?” Saint says.
“Yep. His name was getting too big. It must have made its way over to law enforcement.”
“I hope,” Saint says, eyes returning to Ryder. “But I still want Ryder back on that door. He’s testing my last nerve.”
I’m about to head back to the bar when the front door bursts open.
Saint looks up. “See. This is exactly the kind of thing I’m talking…” The words dissolve on his tongue.
I frown. It’s not like Saint to leave a sentence unfinished. Sometimes, he can be even mouthier than Ryder.
“Saint?” I prod him in the side. “Are you alright, bud?”
He looks tranced, jaw wide open as he stares at the person who has just entered. His hands fumble over the mixer, turning off the music. The room turns silent, chatter fading away.
