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After the initial shock disappears, a throaty chuckle vibrates out from me. Damn. Maybe those drinks are strong. Clutching my stomach, I shake my head. “Oh my god.” Swiping the tears from my eyes, I fill up my cup, low-key taking Silver’s away from her.
“What!” Karli says defensively. “Why are y’all surprised?”
Karli, I would guess, is in her mid-forties, with long brown hair and a figure to die for. The cut lines in her arms a display on how hard she works out. “I guess I just assumed bikers were, I don’t know—”
“—cavemen?” Bonnie says, a smirk on her painted red lips. “They are, these two are just weird.”
“Well, this is good to know. Nice to meet you, Karli.”
Karli leans forward to blaze my smoke. “Anytime, honey. I will say, Sicko definitely has his hands full with you.”
“Oh, come on.” Silver chuckles, dancing in her chair. “We all know Sicko plays in the sandbox and has with Bea. But you know what?” Silver says, watching me with careful eyes. “I don’t think he will with her.”
“I need shots.” I shake my head, puffing on my cigarette. I’ve always had trouble making friends. Opening up myself and allowing myself to trust someone enough to call them a friend. I guess that’s why I’ve always only kept to Sloane.
“Here you go.” Nellie slides over a bottle of tequila. I narrow my eyes on the bowl of salt and limes beside her arm.
“You poisoned mine?”
Nellie rolls her blue eyes. “No, bitch. I’d rather not be buried in the back yard with my pops yet, if that’s alright with you.”
I take the bottle from her, flicking off the lid. “I don’t trust you.”
I lick the side of my thumb and sprinkle salt over the top.
“I earned that.”
“I don’t really like you either.” I lick the salt off my hand and shoot back the tequila, squeezing a wedge of lime between my teeth, even though I don’t need it.
“Now, I didn’t earn that. You’ll warm to me.” Nellie smiles at me.
“I don’t warm, I’m ice cold, and once someone fucks me over, I never forget.” I wrap my lips around the bottle and suck down another gulp. I’m probably being mean, but the girl deceived us.
“Tough shit, baby girl,” Nellie says, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ll always be here.”
Eh. The alcohol is fulfilling its purpose, that warmth I just said I didn’t have working its way through my veins.
Silver picks up her cup, standing on the table, her ass twerking in the air to “So Good” by Big Sean. “If you both are just going to fight, I’m going to dance. You dance, Jade? You look like you could.”
I chuckle, pouring more margarita into my cup, and adding more tequila into it. “Oh dance? Only when I’m drunk…”
Karli jumps up on top of the table with a fit of laughter, dragging Bonnie up with her. Every time I’ve been around these girls since I’ve known them, I find myself happy. Fulfilled. With all the tequila running through my system, and the need to conceal what happened tonight with James, along with all of the endorphins pumping through my veins from whatever that was between Royce and I, I rap off the lyrics while climbing up on top of the table with them. They all roar with praise of me finally joining. I stick my tongue up against my top lip while gyrating my hips. I’ve known these girls for all of five minutes and they’ve felt more like family to me than my own ever could have given me. This clubhouse feels more like home than the forty-million-dollar mansion I was raised in.
“What the fuck!” Someone swears in the background, but we all ignore it. I sing one part in the verse—the one about doing something to his soul—when I’m being pulled down off the table, Royce’s arm hooked securely around my back.
“Ohhhh, Siiicckkoooo!” Silver slurs, and Gypsy glares at her from below.
“Do you have to be a pisshead while your old man is away on a run?” Gypsy grabs her by the wrist and swings her over his shoulder, carrying her limp body into the house.
“And that, my friends, is why I didn’t get up on that table.” Nellie chuckles up at Karli, who’s left dancing alone.
I turn in Royce’s grip, his chest to mine. “I’m fine. I just need my drink.” I lean back to reach for it but Royce whacks the cup off the table, the contents splashing out across the ground. His jaw clenches as his hands dive into his pocket. He tosses his keys at Wicked, who’s watching us both carefully. “Drive us home.”
“I just got here!” I say, confused. I love the clubhouse.
“And now you’re leaving.” Royce’s hand falls into mine. Our fingers intertwine as he directs me to the garage where the bikes are lined up. There’s another shed behind the parking lot and beside the bigger shed where the bar and party time usually is, with a large metal sheet door closed.
