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“Gimme a whiskey,” Ozzy ordered Crystal. The young sweet butt shot him a smile over her shoulder. Besides her so-tight-you-could-read-her lips short shorts being pink, so was her hair. The color was so bright it actually made him squint. How she had any fucking hair left with as much as she dyed it different colors, he had no fucking clue. “That a wig?”
Crys finished pouring him about three fingers of Jim Beam into a glass and stopped in front of him, the only thing separating them being the bar.
She giggled and slid the glass in front of him. “No. Why would you think that?”
“‘Cause you change the color so damn much.”
She ran her fingers through her long hair, fluffing it and set her baby blues on him. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s fuckin’ pink.”
“It’s supposed to be pink.”
“The only thing I like pink is my pussy.”
She winked at him. “You have a pussy, Oz? Last time I checked, you had a really nice cock.” She licked her lips and leaned over the bar, her tits practically falling out of the little black leather bra she was wearing. In fact, he could see the top edge of her also pink nipples.
That made him lick his damn lips.
Christ, he needed to get laid.
Crys just wasn’t on his menu tonight. Maybe he needed to go a round with Billie, instead, to beat some sense into him.
Problem was, Billie was nowhere to be seen. Maybe the club’s sadist already found tonight’s victim.
He heard his balls scream, “Thank fuck.” Last time he spent time with Billie, he couldn’t feel them for two days afterward.
Worse, he had to piss sitting down.
Still, it was a good night. He just couldn’t do it that often.
“Where’s Billie?”
Crys pouted. “I’m here.”
“Know it ‘cause you’re hard to miss with that fuckin’ pink hair. Asked a fuckin’ question.”
She shrugged one tattooed shoulder. “I think with Dutch.”
“And where’s Dutch?”
“I think with Billie.”
Ozzy sighed and downed half of his JB, hissing through the burn.
Being smart was not a requirement for being a sweet butt. They only had to be willing and available. And, of course, keep themselves clean. Not only shower and not smell like a cum dumpster baking out in the sun all day clean, but stay STD-free kind of clean.
It was one thing to share women, another for his brothers to share crabs or the clap.
He tried again. “Where’s Amber?”
Crystal shrugged again, her overflowing tits bouncing when she did so. That bra had to be a size smaller than it should be. He had no idea how she could breathe in it. “I’m here.”
“Yeah, Crys, had this convo already. Can fuckin’ see you. Know you’re here.”
“What’s wrong with me?”
He sighed. “Nothin’s wrong with you. Maybe—”
The front door of The Barn opened and who he hoped was Amber wasn’t. Instead, he saw Stella walk in with Trip on her boot heels.
“Christ,” he muttered under his breath when he saw who else was with them.
For fuck’s sake, if this shit was going to happen on a regular basis, it gave him another good reason to hit the road. He purposely hadn’t gone to Crazy Pete’s tonight, thinking they’d go there instead.
But fuck no.
That motherfucker Crash’s beard was now longer, as was his hair, and his grin was wide as he sauntered inside The Barn with his arm around Lizzy’s shoulders.
Liz. Since that was what she now wanted to be called.
Not once had she asked him to call her that. If he’d have known that was what she preferred, he might have done it.
But she didn’t say shit.
Just like she didn’t say shit about being an Original’s daughter.
He clenched his teeth together to keep from bellowing out, “Goddamn it, fuckin’ motherfucker!” like he belonged in a padded room in some psych ward.
He grabbed his glass and downed the rest of the bourbon, pounding on his chest with his fist while it settled in his gut, then dug around inside his cut for his tin with his stash. He needed a few hits to keep from pounding that motherfucking grinning bastard into the ground.
If Ozzy got into it with him while Trip was within ear- or eyeshot, it would cause issues. Not just between the two clubs, but between him and Trip.
Ozzy hated Trip’s old man back when the fucker was president—and alive—but he held a lot of respect for the man who came from Buck’s left nut.
Trip had worked his fucking ass off to rebuild the club from scratch and he built something worthwhile and continued to build it. The club was no longer the cluster-fuck it used to be. Instead, it was turning into a whole damn kingdom. One they all benefited from.
While he came back three years ago out of boredom and curiosity, and an urge to settle in one place for a little while, he had stuck around because of what Trip accomplished.
