I have a driver’s license, but I haven’t saved up enough money to buy a car yet. Not a reliable one anyway.
Every time I get close, Mick always hits me up for a loan that he never repays.
I’m not exactly sure what he does for work. I asked him once, but he replied with,“That’s club business.”
Whatever illegal shit he’s up to, it’s never consistent. One minute, he’s rolling in cash, living his best life; the next, he’s flat out broke.
Mick: I’m at the club. We’re having a party. Come.
Me: It’s been a long day. I’ll see you when you get home.
As I go to dump my phone back in my bag, it starts to ring. I blow out a long breath before I answer it. The moment I hear Mick’s voice, I can tell he’s drunk.
“Babe,” he slurs. “I want you to come. You’ll have fun.”
“I’m tired, Mick.”
Hanging around a bunch of drunk bikies is not my idea of fun. I’d rather scrub a toilet with a toothbrush than deal with that circus tonight.
When the booze starts flowing, the guys get louder, cruder, and the women who hang around there aren’t much better. They’re all fake lashes, skimpy clothes, and the kind of smiles that come with an open invitation.
He sighs dramatically. “Come on, don’t be like that. Everyone’s asking where you are. You know it looks bad when my own girlfriend doesn’t show up. Just have a drink, say hi, and I’ll take you home after. Promise.”
“You’ve been drinking. I’m not getting on the back of the bike with you when you’re like this.”
“Fine, we can get a taxi home, or stay here the night.”
I’ve seen the revolving door of men and women disappearing into the back bedrooms, to do God only knows what. There’s no way I’m sleeping in one of those beds.
“Say yes. All work and no play makes Emily a?—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence,” I grumble.
Mick barks out a laugh, and despite my annoyance, I feel a smile tug at my lips. He has one of those laughs that fills a room. It’s loud, carefree, and the kind that makes people turn and grin even when they don’t know what’s funny.
“You work too much … I miss you.” It’s hard to stay mad athim when he sounds like that, and maybe that’s half my problem.
“Fine,” I sigh. “But I’m coming in my work clothes. If I go home to change, I’m liable to climb into bed and never leave.”
He chuckles again, smug and satisfied, and I can almost picture that lazy grin of his, the one that always gets him exactly what he wants.
There are two prospects manning the gate when the taxi pulls up out front. The old guy behind the wheel eyes the run-down factory, the line of Harleys parked in front, the eight-foot chain-link fence surrounding the property, and the rolls of barbed wire coiled along the top.
He raises an eyebrow as I count out the tips I got today and hand them over to cover my fare.
“You sure you want me to leave you here? This doesn’t look like a place a pretty woman like yourself should be,” he says, his voice tinged with concern.
I give him a tight smile. “Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.”
He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath, as I step out of the cab. My sensible, black flat shoes crunch under the gravel as I approach the gates. The sound of laughter and loud music drifts through the fence.
A guy I don’t recognise lifts his chin and puffs out his chest. “This is a private party,” he growls.
I roll my eyes as the guy standing next to him elbows him in the side. “That’s Muzzle’s missus, you fucktard,” he snaps, his tone sharp enough to make the first guy flinch.
I smirk, shaking my head at their ridiculous posturing, and step past them when the first guy opens the gate.
My stomach twists with anxiety as I approach the building,and I feel like I should’ve taken the taxi driver’s warning, but I know Mick will look out for me while I’m here.
