I pull on my black favorite booties and look in the long mirror. I pull at the short black skirt and adjust my white tank top. I grab my black leather jacket and adjust the collar.
Thirty minutes later.
We get out of the Honda, our car, we all chipped in to buy. The music is so damn loud that the bass vibrates on the ground. I hope that we get a booth because I don’t want to deal with the asshats inside.
“Okay, let’s go inside, and we need to blend as quickly as possible,” I hiss, looking around the parking lot.
I don’t see Demon’s or his crew bikes. I chew my lower lip.
“We’re not going to be able to blend in; look at us,” Poison hums, shaking her shoulders.
“For real,” Cherry says, chewing her gum.
“Let’s go inside before we get caught,” Candy hums, tossing her long hair over her shoulder.
“Hell, yes! This is going to be a blast. What the fuck can the Brothers do? They can’t fucking do a damn thing,” Poison hums, walking towards the front door.
“Okay, let’s do this,” I say, moving my head up and down.
We walk up to the door, pull it open, and walk into the dark, smoky club. The room is full of men, some women, and the stage with the girl dancing around the pole.
“Oh, this is cool,” Poison hums, looking at the stripper.
“Poison, don’t even think about it,” I hiss, lowering my eyelids.
“Fuck! You’re just as bad as the Brothers,” Poison huffs, rolling her eyes.
“Let’s get that booth in the corner,” Cherry says, lifting her chin.
“Okay,” I say, moving my head up and down.
I walk around the tables, trying to evade the hands. My girls follow behind, and I know that they can fence the hands. We slide into the booth, and I look around the club.
“I don’t see the Brothers,” Poison hums, raising her hand and swaying to the music.
“Let’s order some drinks,” Cherry says, looking at the men.
“These fuckers are dorks, old, or fat fuckers,” Candy scoffs, rolling her eyes.
“Yeah, desperate men, come here,” I hum, looking at each table for Demon.
The fucker is not here. Did he go to the bar? No, he said club. Unless the MC has another club that I don’t know of.
The waitress walks over, raising her brow. She’s one of the club whores, it figures.
“What in the fuck are you bitches doing here,” Tinsel says, bopping her head. She’s tall, thin, with the big boobs, red hair, and the long legs.
“What the fuck! So, you actually work? I thought that you only fucked,” Poison hums, turning up her lips.
“Fuck you! What do you want to drink,” Tinsel snarls, staring at us.
“Get us a beer,” I hum, looking at her.
Here I thought that she was fucking happy being the club whore. She’s not happy, not like I ever talked to her; the club whores are there to please the Brothers. They, of course, pray to catch one and become an Old Lady. What makes them think that they will be an Old Lady if all the Brothers fuck them. It’s not a difficult concept; it’s really a no-brainer.
“I’ll be back,” Tinsel says.
I watch her walk around the tables and smile at the men. Some of them slide bills into the waistbands of their shorts.
