Page 1 of Outlaw

1

Christian

I’ve got it all. The wind in my ears, a good bike between my legs, breath in my lungs, and a long road ahead of me. No commitments. Nothing to tie me down. I’m an outlaw. I make my own rules. It’s the only way I live.

I had a family once – the Red Lions, a biker gang who took me in when I was sixteen. I was one of them for thirteen years. They were my brothers. Hell, some were even like fathers to me, and after the dad that I had, I guess I was looking for that. But a year ago, they crossed the line.

“Finding some working girls.” That’s what they called it. They talked about it like they were just going to be good-hearted pimps or something. Said they’d “provide protection” for girls who wouldn’t otherwise have it. Oh, and of course take a percentage of their earnings. But I could read between the lines. What they really meant was they were about to start trafficking in women.

I didn’t hesitate. That night, I grabbed my bag, put everything I owned in it, hopped on the bike, and never looked back. I may have done some things in my life to survive, but there’s a line I won’t cross, and that’s it.

I spent the last year on my own, moving from place to place, doing odd jobs here and there just to get by. And then I got the news – my father had died of a heart attack.

My first reaction? I have to admit; I smiled.

My father was the meanest, most cold-hearted son of a bitch you’d ever want to meet. He yelled when he taught and disciplined with his fists – or a belt. He drank too much, smoked too much, and treated his body like shit. No wonder it gave out on him before the age of sixty.

Mom was bad too – not quite as bad, but the ups and down with her were like whiplash. Sometimes it was like she loved me more than anything in the world, but I couldn’t go crying to her; she wouldn’t let me. In fact, if I cried too much, I’d get a slap from her. Imagine that. I got over it a long time ago. I’ll be fine if I never see her again. In fact, I don’t want to see anyone I know again. But they wouldn’t recognize me anyway. My hair is short, and my beard is gone. I look like a completely different man than when I left.

Those thoughts, and more, are like storm clouds in my mind as I barrel over the Coldstream Bridge on the west end of town. Nothing seems to have changed in my absence. The old tire plant is still boarded up, and the long line of abandoned mills that line the river look like they’re ready to slide down the bank into a pile of rubble. The sun gleams in my eye as it always used to around dusk, and I swing my Harley onto Main Street and head for Jesop’s. I need to head to the house at some point, but I’m gonna need a drink first.

But when I get there, I find something in Oakville has changed. Jesop’s, my old dive bar with two-dollar beers from four to seven, is gone. Well, the building is still there, its roof still sagging like a pair of seventy-year-old tits, but the sign is gone, replaced with a fresh one made from two big pink circles. It reads:

TA-TAs!! Booze and Babes!

“The fuck is this?” I grumble as I park and shut off my engine. The windows are tinted or something, giving the place a seedy vibe like you’d get at a strip club. But I need a drink, and if babes come with my booze, that’s just an added bonus.

I get off the bike and stretch. It’s been a long ride from upstate New York to Vermont. Ignoring a loud group of local guys who look like they work construction, I pull open the front door and step into a bar that is nothing like the Jesop’s I remember.

The whole interior’s been renovated. The cigarette and alcohol stained carpet is gone, replaced by thick-planked hardwood flooring. The dark-green walls have been painted bright orange, and all the low tables have been replaced by high tops. The hostess spots me instantly and comes right over, and it’s then I realize why the bar’s called Ta-Tas.

The girl’s wearing a pair of tight, spandex booty shorts with an orange romper that shows off her sides and hoists her tits up practically to her neck. She’s got a spray tan and a necklace dangling down between her cleavage just in case you weren’t already staring. Basically, it’s a small-town rip-off of Hooters.

“Hi, my name is Violet, welcome to Ta-Tas,” she says with a smile as she leans on the counter in front of me, causing her rack to jiggle like a bowl of Jell-O. Some guys would find her hot, but she’s not my type. “Here for drinks? Food?”

“Just a drink,” I tell her.

“Okay,” she says, holding that smile. “Why don’t I get you a seat over here?”

She starts to lead me toward an open seat at the bar, but I’m not interested in any chit-chat, so I point to a corner table.

“Why don’t you sit me over there?”

“All by yourself?” she asks, giving me her practiced, commiserating frowny-face. She puts a hand on my shoulder. “Well, I’ll just have to come keep you company then.”

“Listen, girl,” I grumble as I sit down. “I’m not here for the view, all right? I just want a drink before I head home for the night. So don’t go working for a big tip. You’re not gonna get one.”

She doesn’t even flinch. “Okay, sir, that’s no problem! Why don’t you just tell me what you’d like and I’ll go grab it for you?”

“Cheapest you’ve got,” I tell her. “And be quick about it.”

Still smiling, she nods and heads off towards the bar. She may seem nice, but girls like her are all the same; they’re practiced in telling a man the things he wants to hear. They saddle up to you, give you that smile, a wink, look at you through mascara and fake lashes, and before you know it, your wallet’s empty and you’re home alone wondering if you’ve got a shot with her next time.

Yeah, fuck that. Let these other suckers play into their hands. All I want is a cold one, and if Jesop’s was still here, that’s all I’d get.

I give my girl a look when she comes back with my beer – a look that lets her know I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t want to chat with her, and she gets the hint. With a half-smile that’s gone before she

turns around, she heads over to the bar to wait on a trucker who’s just sat down.

The bar may have changed, but Oakville never will. It’ll always be the same podunk town filled with the same podunk people who are just fighting to get by. No opportunity. No upward mobility. Just a bunch of shit jobs for you to grind your life away on. I can’t wait to get the fuck out. I doubt Pops left me the house. Even if he did, I’m not keeping it. I’ll sell it, pocket the money, and go back to New York.

I take a long, cold sip of my beer and set it back down on the table. I reach for a napkin, and as I do, the door to the back opens and a literal goddess walks out.

“Holy fuck…”

My cock goes rock hard beneath the table. I actually have to resituate myself to make room for it in my jeans.

What a fucking beauty.

She’s wearing the same stupid getup as Violet and the rest of the waitresses, but it looks different on her – like it doesn’t belong. Her rack’s incredible, the perfect size and shape, and pushed up by the romper she’s got on. The spandex shorts hug her hips and thighs with utter perfection. This is the kind of girl those things were made for.

Her almond hair is teased and blown out into a mess that frames her gorgeous face and spills down around her sharp cheeks and past her plump lips that are gleaming with gloss. She rocks me right down to my core. I don’t think I could design a more perfect woman if I tried.

But as I watch her step out of the back, a fierce jealousy grips me, and my chest goes tight. What the fuck is a beauty like her doing at a place like this where all these men can look at her?

But the answer is obvious: this is Oakville and she needs money. Shit, if I had enough money I’d give it all to her to make sure she never stepped foot in this place again.

She stumbles as one of the girls passes her, frowns angrily at herself, then looks up. Our eyes meet, and I’ll be damned if the whole world doesn’t stop for a split second.

Damn…

But that moment is ripped away as Violet comes up beside her, grabs her by the arm and pulls her quickly toward the door. It opens, and I almost jump out of my chair as three of the Red Lions walk in. Violet pushes my angel right up to them. She’s nervous. She’s new. She’s not like the rest of these girls, but she’s trying desperately to be.

“Hi, my name is Claire, welcome to Ta-Tas!”

Oh, hell no.

2

Claire

I’m about to pee my pants as the Lions walk through the door. Like everyone in Oakville, I know who they are; they’re the biker gang that pretty much runs all the criminal activity in this part of the state. I’d heard from my parents that they were bad guys and I should stay away from them, but Violet assures me they’re not as bad as everyone says. Oh, and they tip well. Really well.

And that’s why I’m being given their table. Today is my first day at Ta-Tas and Violet wants to make sure it’s a good day. See, Violet is my closest friend and has been working here since it opened. Unlike me, she’s never had any issue “selling sex.” She’s got a thirst-trap Instagram, an Onlyfans, a Venmo link on all her social media and dating profiles, and she strips on weekends. I don’t know how she does it. Just walking around in this ridiculous “uniform” is making me sweat out of nervousness.

But I need the job. My dad broke his ankle working construction and his disability still hasn’t gone through, and my mom just had her hours at the diner cut in half. If someone doesn’t start bringing in some money soon, we’re going to end up camping in the woods and eating Spam just to survive.

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