Page 1 of Wrench
Chapter One
Wrench
Drops of beer splashed on my buzzed head when Archer¡¯s quarter bounced into the
bottom of my glass. I raised my head from the table, where I was absentmindedly
touching up some of the carvings the Blazing Rebels had left over the years in the wooden
table. Annoyed, I scowled at the beer hitting me, but when he pointed his thumb to the
door behind him, I understood why he grabbed my attention. A young woman in a short
denim skirt had just walked through the door. My lips curved upward into a smirk.
Scanning her body, I saw she had a fake tan with an orange tinge and dyed black hair
that was so puffed up with hair products, it made her head look huge. But I wasn¡¯t staring
at her hair, she could be bald for all I cared. Well, maybe not bald, unless I hit the sauce
really hard. But what I stared at was the abnormally low, white t-shirt hardly covering her
giant, probably fake, breasts. Either she was one of the strippers or she was my new
conquest. Maybe both.
As if it would be a challenge. Being in a motorcycle club seemed to attract any woman
who hung around the Ironhead Tavern.
¡°Looks like your type, Wrench,¡± Archer said to me. He wasn¡¯t wrong, but it wasn¡¯t
saying much. The only standard I had was made loud and clear to every woman I laid my
eyes on; no strings attached.
I lived in leather on the road, ruling the east side of Mascid, Arizona, as the Vice
President of the Blazing Rebels. If I wasn¡¯t on my bike, a 2012 Goldwing, I was at the
Ironhead Tavern. If I wasn¡¯t at the Tavern, I was busting jackasses for messing up the way
I wanted our territory to run. And if I wasn¡¯t doing that, then I was leaving some dame
who I picked up at the bar the night before.
I responded to Archer silently, with a shrug and reached into my jacket¡¯s pocket,
grabbing a smoke from my cigarette tin. I leaned back in my chair and took three long
puffs off my smoke before saying, ¡°Who knows. The night is young.¡±
¡°Bullshit. She¡¯s mine,¡± said our sergeant of arms, Ripper, as he slammed his tankard
on the table, spilling half of it, before his leather gear weighed him down to his chair. The
mixture of gasoline and cigarette smoke, an odd and lethal combination, left a scent on
