Page 53 of The Biker and the Loner
Scratch:YOU. BUT YOU WON'T LET ME. WHAT FRIEND?
Me:*facepalm emoji*
Me:I'm leaving now. Do you want me to bring you something or not? Talk fast.
Scratch:PHILLY CHEESESTEAK SUB.
Me:Where should I come?
Scratch:THE CLUB.
Me:Who's there with you?
Scratch:ONYX. BULLY. RANGER. MASK. JUDGE.
Me:Ok. Be there soon.
Almost an hour later, I arrive at the Den of Heathens compound. The wait for the subs was a long one. As Mice opens the big, rusting metal gates for me, I drum my fingers against the steering wheel.
"Hey, Pretty Ley," he says with a big grin after I’ve driven in and parked. "Long time no see."
Freakishly tall and lanky, Mice is the compound lackey. Too “soft” to be a brother, according to Grunt. But he takes pride in his tasks on the compound and is amicable and extremely loveable.
"I know, right?" I switch off my engine. "I've been a bad friend." I reach for the Cookie's Treat bag on the passenger seat. "Will these cinnamon rolls atone for my negligence?"
His grin widening, he walks up to the window and takes the bag from my outstretched hand. "You're always so kind, Pretty Ley." He opens the bag and sniffs. "Hmm. Still hot and fresh."
I clamber out of the Range and open the back door. "Where can I find Scratch?"
His mouth is stuffed with sugary carbs when he replies, "Oh, they've been in a meeting in the courtroom for a while now. If it's over, you should find them in the bar."
“Thanks, Mice.” I gather the takeaway food tray in my arms. “Do you mind closing that door for me?"
"Of course, Pretty Ley."
It's been a while since I came to the compound. I tried to keep it up after Scratch left, but with both him and Grunt gone, I had no other reason to come around except for Kendra. And because Kendra works right across the street at The Metal House, seeing the Heathens daily, she rarely visits the compound in her free time
I started coming around for Grunt, I stayed for Scratch, and I lingered for Kendra. Now that Scratch is back, I've reason again to be here. But judging from our conversation this morning, I’m getting the feeling that won't be for long.
Using my shoulder, I bump open the bar door and I’m immediately assaulted with the pungent smell of smoke, alcohol, and testosterone.
Once my senses have adjusted to the environment, I scan the room. Bully and Ranger are shooting pool, Judge is propped against the bar nursing a beer with a serious expression, and Onyx and Scratch are smoking weed on an old mustard couch, while Mask sits backward on a chair regaling a bawdy sexual encounter.
A Club Cat is slouched on the arm of the couch, dragging her long nails along Scratch’s tattooed arm. He’s looking up at her with that sexy grin of his.
I'm not jealous. Club Cats don't give a shit. I've been around long enough to know how this place works. I’ll know where I stand based upon how Scratch reacts when he sees me.
When I look to the bar again, Judge jerks his chin at me and raises his beer in a salute, amusement on his usually serious face. Wow. Getting any kind of acknowledgment from the president of the club, as a woman, is huge around here.
Heady from his acknowledgment, I grin like an idiot and direct my steps toward the mustard couch. When Scratch finally notices me, his smile that was aimed at the Club Cat melts. He takes a pull of his joint.
"Holy shit, is that you, Pretty Ley?" Ranger calls from the pool table across the room.
On a small, battered table next to Mask, I set down the food tray then turn and wave at Ranger and Bully.
"Yep. What's up?"
"What's up is that you stopped comin’ around," Bully replies.
