“God, that man is gorgeous! This is going to be F-U-N.” Gia wet her lips and whispered to Valentina as she watched Riker start towards them. With what could only be described as a bad ass swagger, he crossed the graveled parking lot that was filled with what appeared to be hundreds of chromed-out Harleys, a fleet of black utility vans bearing the Saints MC logo, and a few dozen dented pick-up trucks.
“Hey, beautiful ladies.” Riker wrapped his arm around Gia and kissed her soundly on the mouth. When he turned to wrap his other arm around Valentina, she adroitly stepped out of his way. At the expression on her face, he laughed amiably. “Chill out, babe. Just a friendly hello. If you change your mind, there’s enough of me to go around.”
“So I’ve heard,” Valentina muttered underneath her breath.
After trying her best to ignore the warning bells ringing in her head, Valentina followed Gia and Riker towards the loud sounds of hootin’, hollering, and raucous celebration that was happening all around them. An undercurrent of down and dirty rumbled through the air and seeped through the sound system. The blare of heavy metal music split the night and blended with the thick smell of smoke. There was a bonfire several yards away, and the earthy smell of Hickory wood mingled with the heady fragrance of weed, tobacco, and something else— a distinct and strong smell of danger that was hard to miss.
The compound was larger than she expected but otherwise not a far cry from what Valentina had envisioned the Saints property to look like.
There were at least a dozen acres of cleared field and beyond that lay a thick buffer of wooded land. Three buildings were clustered fairly close together in the clearing: the very large clubhouse, where all the noise was coming from; behind it was a dormitory type building that had two wings extending past the main section, and towards the left of both those buildings sat a smaller wooden structure. On the front of that last building sat a beautifully carved sign displaying the Rod of Asclepius— the universal sign of medicine.
Beyond the buildings was a sloped area which plateaued out to a massive and artfully arranged masonry brick patio. In the center of the space was a huge fire pit. The area around the patio was filled with picnic tables and grills. There were dozens of portable banquet tables set up, and they were bent and groaning under the weight of the enormous trays of food. Large clusters of beer kegs dotted the area, and numerous portable wet bars were set up at the end of the lengthy line of tables.
The area was teaming with club members and their women. They were all either standing in line for food, talking in groups, relaxing in Adirondack chairs, or making out on blankets near the rapidly growing bonfire.
The main clubhouse resembled a cold, forbidding bunker and sported an enormous symbol of the Hells Saints MC plastered on the front of the building. The intricately painted portrait of a broken-winged angel provided a compelling and eerie backdrop against the industrial concrete and steel construction.
A cluster of tall flagpoles stood off to one side and waved their banners proudly— Marine Corps, Army, Air Force, and Navy flags were hung from one pole while the American flag and the Hells Saints insignia were tied to another.
The entrance to the clubhouse boasted a double-wide metal door and was flanked by two men wearing prospect vests. Dolly had explained to Valentina that the leather vests that all club members wore were called cuts. Evidently, the patches that were sewn onto them all had different meanings and significance.
Valentina had learned from Dolly that the ones that said Prospect were club members on sort of a probation period, and from what Dolly had told her it was a pretty hard-core initiation process. Then there were the regional patches that showed which area each man was from and if they had special ranks, but even the rank system confused Valentina. So basically, Valentina was clueless about the world she was about to enter.
There were two men standing guard the wide entrance, and while one moved respectfully to open the door for Riker, the other guy eyed Valentina with a look that was the direct opposite. When she went to walk past him, he purposefully stood in her way. If Valentina was going to follow Riker and Gia into the clubhouse, she was going to have to deal with this guy.
“Excuse me,” she murmured. “I’d like to get by.”
“Kind of like you right where you are, bitch.” He crossed his arms and stood in front of her.
Bitch? Valentina was so stunned she stood frozen in place. No one had ever dared speak to her like that before. Her father would have had them killed on the spot.
“Prospect, stand down the fuck down.” Riker bellowed out from just inside the doorway.
With a low growl and a feral gleam in his eye, the man hesitated just long enough to scare the crap right out of Valentina, then he stepped out of her way.
“Insolent cocksucker.” Riker pulled Valentina through the door and just like that, Valentina found herself suddenly channeling Lewis Carroll’s Alice Through the Looking Glass.
This was not at all what she had expected.
While the exterior of the clubhouse conveyed a formidable and industrial impression, the interior looked anything but. It had a cool vibe to it without being over the top and seemed like it had gone through a recent renovation—maybe, the results of the blast?
The floor was made of smooth gray cement, and the walls appeared to be newly sheet-rocked and freshly painted in alternate colors of platinum and black. Deep cushioned leather couches lined the walls of the room, while pub tables and chairs filled up the middle area.
A polished concrete bar stretched down the side of the room and was fully stocked with what looked like top-shelf. That same heavy metal music blared out from several high-end sound bars while a half-dozen flat screens displayed sports events. Framed photographs and lithograph prints of vintage Harleys hung from the walls.
The whole vibe of the clubhouse was edgy, chill, and surprisingly upscale.
By contrast—the room was crowded with people who were definitely not upscale or chill.
The women all had a sameness about them: no one rocked the biker-babe chic look that Valentina had come to identify the Winston sisters or Glory or Dolly by. These women all looked hard and a little mean. Their eyes glittered dangerously at each other as if they were all competing for the same prize.
The men.
They came in all shapes and sizes—thin and wiry, hard and muscular, or big and beer bellied. Some of their heads were shaved, some inked, some sported long hair twisted into man buns or ponytails.
Their ages ranged anywhere from early twenties to late sixties. The bikers all had a dangerous and compelling air—they carried themselves with a predatory swagger. With their back claps and their man hugs, these men brought a sense of kinship and unity to the atmosphere that was tribal. The geographical patches on their cuts told Valentina that the Saints had come together from across the country to celebrate the wedding of one of their own. The air was heavy with the synergistic energy of brotherhood.
“Wait here—right here. If any of these assholes pulls any shit or tries to drag you off, you tell ‘em you’re here for Riker,” he ordered the two stunned girls before disappearing into the crowd.
“Did he just say if anyone tries to drag us off?” Valentina asked in a hushed tone as she looked around the crowd.
“Yeah, he did,” Gia whispered back huskily, then licked her lips and homed her eyes in on Riker’s retreating ass. “Wow. Just. Wow.”
Yeah, that’s one word for it, Valentina thought. But before she had a chance to offer up her opinion, Riker was back in a flash with refreshments. His large tattooed fist held a six pack of beer, and jacked up under his arm was a fifth of Tequila.
“Cuervo Gold, Killians Irish Red, and two smokin’ hot women.” Riker grinned. “Life don’t get much better. It’s hotter than a motherfucker in here, lets head outside.”
Valentina groaned inwardly at the thought of making her way through the crowded room and kept her eyes peeled for Hal. But she realized her chances of stumbling across him in this sea of badass and black leather was going to be much harder than she thought.
She felt the steam rise from the sweaty bodies that pressed against her as she followed Gia and Riker’s move towards the door. The stop and start of pushing through the crowd made Valentina’s head hurt. The blaring music that vibrated through the speakers and bounced off every corner of the room only exasperated the throbbing in Valentina’s head and set her teeth on edge.
Suddenly she was stopped dead in her tracks by a bone crushing stomp. The heavy, leather biker boot held her sandaled foot in place with painful pressure and effectively separated Valentina from Gia and Riker. She watched in horror as the crowd swallowed them up almost immediately.
“Get off me!” Valentina tried to pull her foot out from the much larger one that held her prisoner. When she pushed hard against the broad leather back that belonged to the foot, an enormous heavily bearded and darkly inked man turned a murderous drunken glare right above Valentina’s head.
“You got one fucking second to get your goddamn hands off me, cocksucker…” But not seeing the culprit in his direct line of vision, the giant’s dilated pupils blazed with confusion before he dropped his eyes to the top of Valentina’s head and laughed out loud. “Hey, darlin’, was that you swatting at my back like a little goddamn flea?”
“You’re stepping on my foot,” Valentina yelled out, but her voice was lost in the loud music and thick noisy crowd.
“Say what, darlin’?” He bent his head close to hers.
“You. Are. Stepping. On. My. Foot!” Valentina enunciated clearly and loudly and pointed down to the small space between them.
“Ah…shit! Sorry!” He apologized and quickly removed the crushing weight of his boot. “You trying to get by me, baby girl?” Then without warning, the giant put his large, sweaty paws on either side of Valentina’s waist and hoisted her up over the crowd like she weighed no more than a rag doll.
Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, he reached over the crowd with his long arms and placed Valentina back down hard—away from him and a few feet closer to the door.
Valentina landed on unsteady feet and inadvertently fell against a very drunk girl with the smeared make-up of a KISS reject. Before Valentina could mumble out a startled apology, the girl used both hands to shove Valentina as hard and fast as she could.
Whack.
When the side of Valentina’s skull bounced hard off the concrete wall, a wave of nausea came over her. She clutched the side of her head and swallowed hard to keep down the vomit. Valentina’s vision blurred as her eyes flooded with pain-filled tears.
“And there’s more where that came from bitch!” The girl postured and yelled out before she too was swept up in the crowd.
Sweet Jesus. What had she gotten herself into?
Valentina stifled a rising scream as the familiar sense of panic began to coil tight inside of her. She fought to calm herself by concentrating on the intermittent and faint breeze that blew in through the exit door. If she could just make it outside, she would be okay.
Only a few feet more— keep your eyes on the prize.
With desperate and determined steps, Valentina forced her feet to move purposefully and one step at a time until eventually she made her escape through the wide-open arch.
The inky darkness was thick with hot humidity, and it cloaked Valentina in a shroud of stifling pressure. Like a cloth bandage soaked in hot water—it wrapped around her chest and threatened to squeeze the life out of her. Slowly … slowly… she made herself practice her breathing skills.
Inhale ...12345678910 …
Hold ...12345678910 …
Exhale …12345678910 …
And again …12345678910…
Thankfully, the crushing feeling of suffocation subsided, and Valentina’s breathing began to regulate on its own.
From the shadowed trees, Valentina took another quick survey of the property. When Valentina saw a club member carry a laughing blonde over his shoulder into the doorway of the next building, she guessed it was some sort of housing unit—like a dormitory for outlaws.
Valentina barely had time to form the thought when she saw a girl who looked an awful lot like Gia with a guy who looked an awful lot like Riker wrapped around her. They followed the other couple right through those same doors.
Humph.
So much for sticking together.
So much for girl code.
From the safety of the shadows, Valentina took a moment to gather her wits about her. If the rumors had been true —and she felt with grim certainty they had been—she had about a forty-five-minute wait before Riker, with his long black hair, muscled abs, and hey baby eyes, finished the job and dumped Gia unceremoniously on her ass and out the door.
She almost felt sorry for her cousin.
Almost.
The door to the clubhouse opened and out staggered the heavily made-up blonde who had pushed Valentina into the wall. Valentina recognized the guy who came up behind the girl as the man who had barred Valentina’s entry into the clubhouse entrance with that bitch comment and leering sneer.
Match made in heaven.
Valentina watched from the shadows as the guy grabbed the girl by her hair and yanked hard. Then he let her go only to reach down inside the girls barely-there shirt and pop out one of her breasts. He held the red- rouged nipple in between his thumb and forefinger then he began to pull and pinch at it in a weird sort of rhythm, kind of like he was milking cow.
Ouch.
While his other hand—Valentina blushed hot in the darkness—was shoved up the girl’s short skirt and shoving it in and out, in and out of her in that same strange rhythm.
And the girl—the whole time the guy was finger-jogging her, was letting out these really loud, crying howls— just like an alley cat in heat.
Valentina listened and looked on even as she felt sick with disgust, hot with embarrassment, and flooded with a weird sort of fascination that kept her frozen to the spot. She jumped with fright and bit down on her lip to keep from crying out and giving herself away when a loud, deep, and very masculine voice bellowed out from the darkness.
“Prospect, I’m giving you a direct order to either shoot the bitch or make her come. But for fuck’s sake, shut that caterwauling Bandaid up!”
A bunch of “fuck yeahs” roared out in agreement as shouted commands to “do it” sounded out across the yard.
And while the world listened in—the prospect followed orders.
He didn’t shoot her, but without any doubt, he made her come.
And when it was over, it seemed that the whole yard broke out into a round of applause.
Valentina had had enough.
Way, way, way more than enough; but before she could make her getaway, the two lovebirds moved in front of her, unwittingly blocking her path. With drunken enthusiasm and without bothering to cover her breasts back up, the girl dropped to her knees in the dirt and the gravel and the piss and the beer, and whatever else lay hidden in the sparse grass. Then she got busy giving the outlaw a blow job for the ages.