Ice

I should’ve picked a different bar to drink at. This one reminds me too much of what should’ve been. And what was. But Boar’s Pit Stop was always the one place where it didn’t matter where you came from or where you were going or what club you belonged to. Old Boar made sure of that. He came to this country after the big war in Europe, an Englishman who fell in love with an American nurse so he followed her here. He never belonged to any MC, but he liked to ride, so he wanted to build a place where all outsiders would be welcome. I’m an outsider in my own hometown now, so it seemed fitting I come here to drink.

Boar’s long gone now, and was already long gone before I disappeared. But I remember when that Boar’s head hanging over the bar always looked spiffy and new because he cleaned it once a month. I remember coming here with my father when I was a kid and watching him do it. He’d tell me stories about how he caught that boar himself, in the woods around this town, but that was probably a lie since the story kept changing each time he told it. Now it looks ratty and ready to be thrown out. It also doesn’t look like everyone’s welcome here anymore.

In the two hours I’ve been here, four fights broke out, one of which might prove fatal to the guy who got his head smashed in. They just dragged him out the back door and probably left him there. The only club colors I’m seeing are those belonging to the Blood Riders MC and Kings of the Road MC, which were both very small outfits back when my father ran things around here, but they seemed to have moved up in the world.

I’ve been getting a lot of looks, most of them followed by loudly whispered conversations that I know are about me without needing to hear the words. I’m a fucking legend as far as anyone who followed Death Match is concerned, and that’s most bikers from here to Cali and back again. I’m the undefeated champion for six years running. For life, now that I’m no longer fighting. That’s also pretty much all I’ve got to show for my life, but it’s something, when you look at it that way. And hell, maybe after a couple more drinks, I’ll give some of these whispering fuckers the chance to try and take the title away from me. They won’t.

But for now I’m happy just watching the blonde in the red dress.

She came in about half an hour ago, sauntered right up to the bar and ordered a glass of wine. Until that moment, I didn’t even know they served wine at this place.

She looks like one of those pinup girls old-timers liked to put on their biceps, complete with her hair done up just so, a bright red dress and nails and lips to match. She’s curvy but not overly so, and her smooth, milk white legs go on forever. In other words, she’s exactly my type.

She makes all the other ladies in here fade into the background, and she kinda glows like there’s an invisible spotlight floating just above her head. I wouldn’t mind taking her with me when I leave this place. It’s been awhile since I fucked a woman. And it’s been even longer, since I wanted to as much as I want to fuck this one. I bet those long legs of hers would feel real nice wrapped around my hips. Or spread wide open. That’d be a sight too. I bet she can take it. And if her coy glances my way are anything to go by she likes to take it too.

She’s gorgeous, but all the other guys in here are ignoring her. And that could only mean one thing. She belongs to someone none of these guys want to fuck with. I have no such niceties to observe. I’m a ghost around these parts. I could go over there and talk to her, and I’ll do just that if her man doesn’t show up in the next five minutes. Fuck consequences, fuck the fact that the only guy for thousands of miles around here that I could count on to have my back is an old man with half his face burnt off. Fuck all that, I like her smile. And I don’t have much to live for.

Used to be I had friends everywhere I turned around here. I got drunk with some of them more than once at this very table. And in the alley behind this bar, where they left that guy who got his head smashed in, that’s where I got the best blowjob of my life. From Maxine. She’s gone now too.

But I bet the woman in the red dress gives great blowjobs, and I wouldn’t mind smearing that bright red lipstick of hers. She’s still smiling at me as though she’d like that too. I should go talk to her. Even if she belongs to some hardass that can’t stand others even looking at his woman.

What else have I got to lose? I already lost it all. Along with my sanity and my common sense. A good blowjob would go a long way to making me feel better, a good fuck even further. And she looks like a good fuck.

But just as I decide to make my move and stand, the door opens and an old guy with grey in his beard walks in, flanked by a couple burly looking old-timers. I’d pay it no mind and continue on my quest, but the whole room sorta freezes, including the woman in the red dress who’s got the brightest smile on her face now, as she looks at him. That smile makes her look younger and much happier than she did before the guy walked in. It’s so bright it makes me wish she was smiling at me like that, because it’s been a long, long time since any woman did that.

But it’s a passing thought. I plop my ass back down and finish off the rest of my Jack, because, yeah, she clearly does belong to someone else, and she obviously likes it just fine that way.

And seeing her wrap her slender arms around his neck once he reaches her chases away the last of my desire to fuck. Or do anything but get so drunk I won’t remember anything about this day.

Coming back home was a mistake. There’s nothing to find here, unless it’s more regret and guilt, and I don’t need any more of that.

* * *

Barbie

Figures Brick would be late meeting me. He always is when he tells me to meet him somewhere, it’s just one of the ways he likes to show me who’s boss. The wait would be a lot more unpleasant if it weren’t for the hot stranger sitting alone in the more shadowy part of the bar.

Normally, I’m ignored when I come in here alone, because Brick can’t stand other guys being near me unless he gives the OK. That never made a whole lot of sense to me, because he likes watching me getting fucked by other men, it’s one of the few things that never fails to get him going lately. But it has to be on his say so, on his terms, everything always does, and his men seem fine with that arrangement. There’s no not being fine with it anyway. It’s his way or the highway, I learned that lesson the hard way a few times over.

But this new guy doesn’t know about Brick’s rules. He’s been checking me out since I walked in, and he’s not growing tired of doing it either. It’s been years since a guy kept looking at me with that kind of desire, and it feels good. So good, I even smiled at him a few times, even though that’s dangerous since someone could see me do it and tell Brick. But I’ve been feeling so old and washed out and unwanted lately, and his clear desire makes all that fade like it hasn’t in years. As stupid as it sounds, I feel like I’m twenty-one again and every guy’s wet dream, just like I used to feel back then. I know it’s all in my head, but it feels good, so I’m going with it.

This guy also looks a whole lot better than most of the guys I see around here. That’s pure muscle under that leather jacket of his and no sign of a beer belly. And those eyes, man, they’re intense enough to pull me right into his lap. They’re green, I think, or maybe blue, but definitely not boring old brown.

I’m pretty sure he was about to come over and chat me up right before Brick and his inner circle walked in and rudely interrupted it all. But at least our brief exchange of looks made it much easier to give Brick one of my biggest smiles. The kind that made him choose me as his lady over all others all those years ago. I thought I’d hit it big then, thought I got all I ever wanted, because the president of a club wanted me. The years since showed me different, but I still have it better than a lot of other women, and tonight I’m gonna fight to keep it. The stranger looks good and we’d probably have a good time together. But having a good time is overrated, and it doesn’t keep a roof over your head. I learned that lesson pretty well too.

“You kept me waiting,” I croon as I wrap my arms around Brick’s neck, looking at him like he’s the only guy worth looking at in this whole place. “You know I don’t like that.”

“I was busy,” he says and doesn’t even crack a smile as he removes my arms from around his neck. I swear I’d have more luck flirting with a wall than I do with him lately, and that realization snaps me right back into the middle of all the worrying that kept me up all night.

“You’re not gonna do much waiting on him anymore,” Bub, one of his enforcers, says, and chuckles, making the breath I was taking freeze in my throat. He stops chuckling after a sharp look from Brick, which just makes me worry even more.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask Brick, demanding an answer too harshly, even though I know he doesn’t like that.

“Guess the cat’s out of the bag,” Brick mutters and turns to Bub. “Might as well go get him. But I wanted to do this in private.”

Bub nods curtly and leaves. The other guys Brick brought with him close the gap he left in their ranks as they flank me. They’re standing too close, as though they’re here to prevent my escape and my heart is racing in my throat now, my breaths all jagged and painful. And the panic just gets worse as Bub returns, because he’s trailed by the one guy I always make a point of avoiding, which isn’t easy since he makes a point of stalking me. Razor. The president of Blood Riders MC. He was once Brick’s sworn enemy, but lately they’ve become buddies. He’s also been obsessed with me, since the first night I wandered into this place looking for a good time.

“What’s he doing here?” I ask, not even trying to hide my fear and anger.

“He’s here to collect you,” Brick says. “I’m glad you dressed up all nice and pretty like I told you to. It’ll make him that much happier.”

“Collect me like how?” I ask, the room now spinning before my eyes, the air all stuffy like I’m suffocating because they’re all standing so close and there’s no escape for me. This is worse than my worst nightmare, because I don’t think Brick just wants to lend me to Razor for the night so he can watch me get fucked by him. I think he means to give me to him for good.

“It hasn’t been working between us for awhile now, baby, you know that,” Brick says sweetly enough, but there’s such meanness in his eyes I have to look away. “Me and Razor recently struck a deal, and you’re the sweetener. He’s been lusting after you for years.”

Razor is standing next to me now and smiling widely, showing me all his rotted black teeth. He’s old, even older than Brick, and looks meaner, much meaner. His smile is stretching his face into a grimace, but his brown eyes are cold like the grave.

“I’m not going with him,” I snap. “What the fuck? You can’t just give me away. You don’t own me.”

I try to push my way past the men encircling me, but Brick grabs my arm roughly and pulls me back so hard my spine slams against the edge of the bar counter. And I know then that I have no chance of getting away, but I also know I’m not going down without a fight. I never do.

“You’ll do what I tell you to do,” Brick barks at me. “And I’ll have none of your lip tonight.”

He thrusts me at Razor who grips me just as tightly by my other arm, but I shake it off violently.

“Settle down, gorgeous,” Razor says. “You’ll like where we’re going.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” I yell and try to free myself from his grasp, but his fingers around my arm are like a vise.

“Oh, but you are,” he says softly, acting as though I didn’t just yell at him.

“Like hell I am, let me go!” I yell, and in a dumbass fit of inspiration like I sometimes get, because I’m an idiot, I follow it up by spitting in his face.

The flash in his eyes is the only warning I get before his fist collides with my cheek, the pain from the bruise already there mixing with the one that’ll cause a new one, making me see double before everything goes black. The sharp pain in my wrist as it twists while I try to catch myself to prevent my head from slamming against the bar is the only thing that keeps me from losing consciousness.

I can take a punch, that’s something I learned in my life too, something Brick and many of the guys before him taught me, but the room is still mostly black before my eyes, as someone yanks me to my feet.

I didn’t pass out from the punch, but it’d probably be better if I had, because this night isn’t ending anywhere I want to be. My future doesn’t look too good either, for that matter, if Razor wasted no time almost knocking me out before he even took me home.

* * *

Ice

Well, she was real happy to see that old man of hers, but she doesn’t seem that happy with whatever he came here to tell her. The bar visibly cleared when they started arguing, tough bikers running out like a bunch of hens. There’s just me, them and a couple guys too drunk to know where they are left in this place. Even the bartender removed himself to the back room. But I can’t hear what they’re arguing about since this damn song is too loud.

And that’s probably for the best. Whatever’s going on is none of my business. The sum total of my plan for tonight was to get blackout drunk, crash somewhere for the night, and then leave this town behind, never to return.

But as it is, I’m only just drunk enough to notice the fear and distress in her eyes, and to want to do something about it. But whenever I get this urge to save a woman it never ends well for me. I’m not talking about Roxie, she’s my little sister, and I’d lay my life on the line for her anytime. I’d even go through all that shit with Lizard all over again, if it meant she’d be safe and protected. I knew that since the moment she was born, pretty much. But there was also Rook’s woman in Mexico and saving her landed me right back in a windowless cell for a spell. I’ve also gotten into my share of fights for stepping in over ladies getting mistreated. But that was before Lizard and Death Match.

Maybe I should step in now. I’ve been so fucking nostalgic and depressed lately, and the drink alone ain’t helping. I need a good fight, that always helped. Not so much on the mornings after, when there was pain on top of the regret, hate and depression. But if I manage to get her out of here, I’m sure I’ll get a couple nights of very good gratitude sex out of her before they track us down.

Yet there’s easier ways to find a woman to fuck. This one is well and truly spoken for, and it’s not my way to mess with another man’s woman.

But her eyes keep growing wider and more fearful, since that other, even older guy came in, and they’re very beautiful eyes. She shouldn’t be this afraid; she’s too pretty for that. And she did make my evening better by letting me look at her and smiling at me. I can take the five old-timers giving her a hard time with my left hand, it’s the ones waiting outside we gotta worry about. But fuck it, today’s a good day to die. And long overdue besides.

She yells something that I can’t make out over the loud music and gets punched in the face for it. And that decides it for me. I can’t fucking watch a woman get hit hard like that by a man, it’s too wrong. I don’t remember walking over to them, but I’m right behind the guy who punched her as he hauls her to her feet. I was sure she passed out from the punch, but her eyes are open. They’re glassy, but she looks conscious enough. She’s a tough one, probably used to getting punched. That’s another thing I hate about guys like these, they like punching their women.

“What’s going on here?” I ask, even though I’ve already seen all I need to see about this scene. But it’s as good a place as any to start this conversation.

They all turn to me, including the lady, but I’m not sure she can see me all that clearly, or see anything for that matter. I was right about her eyes though. They’re even prettier up close. Turquoise like the Pacific Ocean, or those marbles I used to collect when I was a kid. I always liked this color best.

“None of your fucking business, that’s what,” the boyfriend snaps, spittle hitting me in the face. “Who are you, anyway?”

He doesn’t recognize me, but some of his posse does and the toothless guy to his left is already whispering something in his ear while staring at me.

His eyes are sizing me up, mockery clear behind the meanness. “Iceman? Is that really you? I’ve been wanting words with you and that Devil’s Nightmare scum over what you did to the Spawns. And now here you are?”

“It’s just Ice now.” I always hated that nickname Lizard created for me after he took me prisoner. It was a play on my father’s name - Wolfman – and a way for him to tell everyone who I was without telling anyone straight out. With me not able to tell my side of the story, a whole bunch of men believed him when he lied that I’d betrayed my MC and joined up with the Spawns to kill them all, so I could fight in the tournaments. Some still believe it. But this guy wouldn’t be talking trash about Devil’s Nightmare MC if any of them were here now, and he can’t be sure they’re not. That’s my ticket out of this.

“Well, Ice,” he says slowly, annunciating my name in an exaggerated way. “I suggest you move along now. You’re lucky I got other things to deal with.”

“Sure, but I’ll be taking her with me. You all need some time to cool off. You’re in no fit state to be around the lady right now.”

For a second there I forgot my reasons for coming over here, while I remembered Lizard too vividly to see anything else. But her eyes are all cleared up now. She sees me and obviously understands what I’m saying too, which I don’t think was the case up until now, since she wastes no time moving to stand behind me. Smart lady.

“What the fuck are you doing, Barbie?” her boyfriend yells and makes to grab her, but I grab him around the throat instead, and press my knife against the soft spot under his jaw. I always keep this knife close, but I don’t actually remember drawing it just now. I better make this swift if we’re gonna get out of here alive.

“We’ll be leaving now,” I tell the rest of the guys, some of whom have already drawn their guns.

But I doubt they’ll make a move since I have their president in such an unfortunate situation. Go for the throat and make it fast, that’s what Cross and the rest of the Devils taught me in this last year, while they helped me round up and dispatch the Spawns. They didn’t mean “the throat” literally, but that’s what I usually went for, and it works right now too. I look at the woman and jerk my head towards the back door. She runs towards it without a split second of hesitation.

“I used this here knife to cut up about half of the Spawns myself. So the rest of you just hang tight at the bar if you want your President back alive,” I tell the old-timers as I back away, dragging the president with me. I’m hoping not many of the guys who left when these ones came in are hanging out by the back door. The front door is probably another matter.

“How far do you think you’ll get?” the guy asks. He’s trying to be mocking, but I hear fear in his voice too. His guys aren’t making a move to stop me either.

“We’ll see,” I say and chuckle.

I’m not sure how far me and the woman who’s following my lead without needing to be prompted will get. But I figure she’ll come away with just a couple more bruises if this fails, whereas I’ll probably end up dead, and that’s an outcome I can live with.

I turn to tell her to get the door, but she’s one step ahead of me and already holding it open.

“Don’t follow us if you want him to live,” I warn the others, though I’m sure they won’t heed that. Why would they? It’s two MCs against one man at this point.

“Careful,” she says, right before I almost trip over that beat up guy they left out here to die.

It’s raining hard again outside, which is a plus, since the parking lot is bound to be deserted. But we still better make this fast.

“That’s my bike,” I tell her, pointing at the only one visible from the alleyway.

Then I spin the guy I’m holding around. He was about to say something, but I just give him a few fast and hard punches to the face. He never even got to put up his arms before he slammed against the pavement.

Then I’m clutching her hand and running for my bike, puddles splashing under my boots. Another moment later, she’s sitting behind me, plastered to my back with her arms digging into my ribs. But she was right to hold on tight, because I plan on going fast. It’s weird how she can anticipate my every move like we’re a team.

That’s just a passing thought, since doubts are creeping in now that we’re speeding through the sleeping, rainy town. I just painted a target on my back from not one, but two MCs. I put her in danger, and probably brought some additional shit down on Roxie and Cross, and Devil’s Nightmare MC. And for what? Because some guy punched his old lady? For a girl with pretty eyes? Or because I have a death wish I can’t control anymore?

It’s that last. And I can already hear the roaring of bikes behind us as they give chase. I’ll drop her off in the next town and disappear.

But she does feel damn good wrapped around my back, and she does have a very pretty smile and even prettier eyes. Maybe I’ll keep her a little longer. What’s the worst that can happen? We’re thousands of miles from California and no one messes with Devil’s Nightmare MC unless they absolutely have to.