Chapter 3
TWO BIG BIKERS WITH heavy-duty beards turned slowly on their barstools as we stepped inside Thunderhead’s clubhouse. When they saw us, they both reached over the bar counter fast.
Big, round bears of men, I was surprised at how quick and agile they were. Metal buckles on their cutoff bike jackets scraped on the bar counter as they swung back to face us.
In the dark far corner, three figures, two men and a writhing girl, huddled around the pool table and stopped whatever they were doing to watch us come in.
Hawk lifted a palm toward the men at the bar. He said, “They come in peace, Crank.” The bigger of the two men cocked his head, but he turned with a pistol in his hand and a growl in his voice.
“That’s what they all say.” He held the gun with both hands, but he didn’t raise the barrel.
Priest carried an easy smile and his arms were out from his sides. His open palms faced forwards and his step was relaxed as he approached the biker.
He said, “Hey, Crank,” and he nodded a greeting to the other man, “Hambone.”
The two bikers at the bar stood shoulder to shoulder. Crank was the one with the gun. The other man hefted a baseball bat.
Priest said, “We ain’t armed. We came in part to see how Hawk was after last night. He took a couple of hefty whacks.”
Hawk said, “Yeah, thanks for those, Beanie.”
Beanie’s feet shifted. Before he could speak, Priest said, “It was that or he’d have taken some hot lead.” He waited for that to settle. He told Hawk, “Beanie kept you him the game, bro.”
Hawk grunted, “I should buy him some flowers.”
Priest turned back to Crank and Hambone. “We also wanted to be sure that Thunderhead and the Steel Riders were good, or if something needed to be done.”
The other man, Hambone, nodded somberly. His voice was like a preacher’s. “As is righteous. We’ll take an account of Hawk’s line to assay our share of that. Hawk?”
Hawk said, “No, we’re good. I did something grievously dumb and Beanie was right to stop me.” Hambone nodded again and turned to Crank.
Crank’s voice thinned. “’Roid rage?” When Hawk nodded, Crank looked to Priest. “Was much damage involved?”
“None to speak of. Got a bit out of hand at the card table. Again in the ring later.”
Crank’s eyebrows lifted. “Out of hand in the ring?”
Priest told them, “The rage. You know?” Crank and Hambone looked toward each other as they considered that. Hambone’s bushy mustache and beard bristled as his lips pursed. He looked at Hawk as he nodded.
Priest said, “No lasting harm done.”
Hambone said, “If the Steel Riders are right with us then, the way I see it, bro, we’re justly right with you.”
When Priest nodded, Crank looked around the six Steel Riders and said, “Beer?”
The air in the room lightened immediately.
The Steel Riders crowded around the bar. Hambone was the Thunderhead’s club president, and Crank wore a patch that said Sergeant-at-Arms.
Talk spread, became louder and grew animated.
Over in the corner, the two men and a girl lost interest in us and resumed their interest in each other. The girl sat on the edge of the table and spread her legs wide.
One biker jammed himself up between her soft, milky thighs while the other fed and slurped on her long throat and her ample, bouncing breasts.
As the bikers talked and drank, I watched Beanie. He was quiet, ready to listen and slow to react. His ink and the scarified patterns shaved into his scalp somehow hid thoughtful, cautious Beanie.
The slow movements of his strong, careful fingers were sensual. The rim of his tongue pressed gently between his thick red lips and a small tremor ran up the insides of my thighs.
Hawk was like his opposite. Big and hot, he seemed to be primed and sprung, ready to laugh or to fight at any moment. Both men’s eyes twinkled with boyish sparks.
Priest was another story. His voice was strong and deep. He spoke quietly, but when he spoke, everyone listened. His eyes flashed with savage, ruthless sparks.
When his body moved under his jacket, especially under his denims, my breath fluttered. As the men talked, all of their eyes snook over my loose shirt and my short denim skirt.
When Priest looked at me, I felt it.
The girl on the pool table was up on all fours. A sturdy biker pumped at each end. Her face slid along one fat cock and her hands gripped the man’s round, clenching buttocks to pull him deeper into her gagging throat.
The biker behind spanked her ass as he reamed in between her widespread thighs. Her wet moans were muffled.
Watching with a heat of my own rising, I couldn’t decide whether she looked abandoned or consumed. My thoughts drifted until the sound of Priest’s name pulled me back.
Crank told him, “Priest, the Steel Riders have business in the drugs trade, just the same as we do.”
“That’s kind of the other piece of why we came here, Crank,” Priest said. “I thought maybe we might have a number of interests in common here.”
Hambone said, “Truly. It could behoove us to share knowledge and to take a reading of the situation together.”
Crank said, “My view, these damn ’roids are just going to be a source of heat. You may feel differently, in which case, fair enough. I’d like to hear about it.”
Priest said, “No, we’re against ’em, too, bro. You know the D.A. has a hard-on for them.” Crank and Hambone nodded. Priest went on, “We don’t allow trade in growth hormones or ’roids on Steel Riders club premises. Not around club business either.”
Crank said, “Like the opioids. You probably find, same as we do, labelled pharmaceuticals are more dangerous business right now than Mexican or Afghan heroin. Our members all know that we’d take a view on them selling the stuff, here or anywhere else.”
Priest nodded. “Just like you, we’ve got too much to lose from the extra attention.”
“Hawk’s a good man.” Crank turned to Hawk. “Look, I mean it, bro, you’re a good man, but the ’roids are going to run you off the road.”
The men drank and passed a joint around. Priest said, “Anyone have any ideas where the ’roids are coming from?”
Everyone looked at Hawk.
The girl in the corner moaned louder.