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Light from the overcast sun filters through my closed eyelids as Chaz stands, pushing his hands up my hips, over my waist, and to my face. When he pinches my chin between his thumb and the curl of his knuckle, I open my eyes and meet his hot gaze.
“All set. Now get in line,” he instructs, thumb dragging across my bottom lip. “After the demonstration, Bay and I are gonna take you vendor shopping. Okay?” He nods, encouraging me to respond likewise. I do, my head moving up and down, seemingly of its own accord.
With Zane and Bae chaperoning me, we make our way to the front of the tent, through the growing crowd of onlookers, and into the center of the endo area where a handful of other dancers are already waiting.
Bae leans over, kisses me gently on the temple, then turns around and slinks away to get his bike for the demo. After an incredibly awkward head tilt and clearing of his throat, Zane takes off after him.
“Alright, time to line up!” I announce, rounding the troops since Chaz, who normally handles organizing everything on demo day, left it in my hands.
I start a head count as each Tit for Tat representative takes their place on the prepared duct-tape X marks. One dancer short, my focus jumps to the tent. Jess, our final rep appears, busting through a line of onlookers, in the required thigh-high leather boots and connecting chap-esque garter. The cropped leather jacket and lace hose really pull the motorcycle-slash-western themed outfit together. Add her dark hair and green eyes into the mix, and she looks like a fucking goddess as she catwalks down the lane beside mine until we are side by side.
The mix between a squeal of excitement and a choke of relief amalgamates in my chest. I immediately reach out for her hand, but her fingers wrap around mine hesitantly in response, lacking the warmth she usually emits. I give her a hard squeeze, willing what little bit of warmth might still be lingering somewhere deep inside me to transfer to her instead.
Her shifty focus scans the crowd, fingers limp in mine. “You okay, hun?” I whisper out of the side of my motionless lips, scanning the audience for Gabe, the tool who I assume has her so on edge.
Jess remains mute.
Several familiar faces catch my notice, but not his. The car crew, Revelry, has come together to watch the fun, their old lady Remi at the center. Crow has his arms wrapped around her and is speaking something undoubtedly dirty into the side of her neck if the way she is biting down on her bottom lip is any indicator. Trenton grabs her hand, his thumb rubbing along a small cloth ring at the base of her ring finger. He leans toward her and says something with a grin — suggestively trying to get her on her bike to endo kiss one of the hotties in line with me, no doubt. Her entire face lights up, and she shakes her head as her mouth forms the words, “Not a chance.” Hayes is just watchful, as usual, taking in the whole scene while probably writing a dissertation about it in his head.
I spot Vee next, off to the side in the distance, monitoring test runs, making sure the participants are capable and experienced. Not for the demo, though. The demonstration is a Hell for Leather exclusive group stunt.
Among the current bikers trying to gain favor with our road captain are a few other familiar faces, ones I only ever see during rallies: Nixie and her small all-female crew. As usual, all four of them are wearing their Rolling Stones colors with the additional sponsor patch. Living, walking, breathing proof that Stoney supposedly has a heart — aka, his charity case.
They might as well wear a rocker with the words “Property of” above the emblem. As an all-female club, Stoney will never make them official. Even so, for some reason, Nixie and her girls still come to represent their Rolling Stones sponsoring chapter every rally. As they are expected to.
While here, though, they always donate to our booth. This year they look especially keen on doing so. A couple of them have sports bikes, making them the perfect candidates. It seriously flabbergasts me that Stoney lets them wear a Rolling Stones cut. Just like Hell for Leather, they are everything the Rolling Stones are not.
Aha. Gabe. There he is, from his worn work boots and washed-out jeans to his new cut, prospect patch and all. Having clearly been assigned the task of babysitting the female club his boss sponsors, he is looming over them while Cyn and Tori fill out their waivers and Nixie and Riya chat with Vee.
Hot chicks stunting on sexy bikes while kissing the local exotic dancers is gonna draw quite the crowd once word gets out. Security better get ready.
Vee cuts the line off at them for now, blocks off the test run area, and disappears behind the mass of gatherers.
Jess keeps her hand in mine, but she is like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs; every loud noise and sudden movement makes her entire body vibrate. “Girl, you better not spook when your biker approaches,” I mutter, the words shaking from concern.
When she still refuses to make a peep, I turn on her, lightly grab her jaw, and direct her focus toward my face. “Do I need to find you a replacement?” Her eyes flit everywhere except for at me. “Look at me, Jess!”
A commotion ahead of us whips my attention away from her. The crowd parts, and the second most powerful motorcycle gang on the Gulf Coast enters single file, starting with Kal and ending with… Coty? Wait. What? I study their formation. Coty and Kio have rejoined the ranks just in time, but Kio is next to Vee — the enforcer in the spot where the vice president usually goes — and Coty is very last, where the tail gunner or prospect rides. Even more concerning is the fact that, although he is wearing the hoodie he always wears, he is missing one incredibly important article of clothing: his club jacket.
Our eyes meet as he lines up across from me, but a sharp whistle snaps my attention to the beginning of the formation. Kal points and flicks his finger between the first dancer and me, gesturing for us to switch places, putting me in front of Kal and a new baby in front of Coty.
As I move to step forward, Jess finally gives my hand a squeeze before letting it go. When I give her a parting smile, her eyes fill with tears. She blinks them away and averts her attention to the Hell for Leather member lined up in front of her. Zane. Shit. He might be the only one wearing a helmet, since the guys clearly decided to harass him one more time about his age, but that does not equip him to handle any of these girls spooking, much less Jess.
I jump into motion, my gaze tracking Coty over my shoulder while I walk the line to make the swap. Jaw ticking, he looks away from me, attunes his focus to his kissing partner, and gives her a curt head nod.
Tossing a damp mental cloth over the fire of jealousy that sparks in my veins, I take my place, lean sideways, and whisper-yell to the girl next to me to send a message to Jess, quickly. “Jess and the last girl need to swap, stat.”
The girl next to me nods, and one by one the dancers move the message down the line.
From here, I am unable to see them change spots, but the subtle reactions from both Zane and Coty are proof enough. Coty casts a quick glance in my direction, and I give him a panicked look that hopefully gets the message across. His silver gaze flicks back to her and turns studious. Thank the Universe. I hate the idea of Coty kissing Jess, too, but this is for the best all around.
With that accomplished, I finally seek out Kio. Sure enough, his dark, striking eyes are aimed right at her, capturing every single red flag her body language throws.
This does not bode well.
Not at all.
Beside Kio, one of the girls running the booth hands Chaz a mic, but the thunder of their bikes rumbling in unison and his introductory speech turn muffled amid my distracted and overrun thoughts.
