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As if she were a thoroughbred and the gate just opened when she was off the jetway she powerwalked her way through the airport to the front door. Swerving and dodging her way around people and obstacles until she stepped out to the curb where Jill waved from the front of her pick-up.
It had to have been at least five years since she last saw her old friend. Even longer when they first met because Dell had spent time at the hospital and Jack and Jill had been there for her. The pair, residents at the time, were a comfort as Porsche sat broken and unconscious with Dell after the attack and kidnapping. Dell had saved her and when she saw her lying in a hospital bed so beaten she barely recognized her friend it was all she could do to not totally fall apart.
Jill and her husband Jack were rouges in the way Red was when it came to doctoring and Porsche was there for it. Adding their skills and passion to the Steels in LA only made sense. Now an ER attending Jill was an asset on so many levels when it came to the MC.
“Jill, it’s so good to see you.”
“Girl you’re so blonde I’d think you were from SoCal!” she exclaimed.
“I thought I was having fun before, now… Oh my goodness,” Porsche said, spinning on her heel and tossing her hair before getting wrapped up in one of the woman’s signature bone crushing hugs. Tossing the luggage in the back she slid into the passenger seat and the cussing at dumb asses began as she tried to navigate away from the curb. Jill was nothing if not fluent in swear words and tended to find ways to interchange them with any noun, verb or adjective. She may have even used fuck as a preposition, but grammar wasn’t her best subject.
“I swear, every damn one of these people is a CIMB.”
“A Simba?” Porsche tried to translate.
“Sadly, a common ailment,” Jill said as her finger ticked off the words associated with the letters. “Came…In…Missing…Brain. See it all the time.”
“Forget them, how have you been?”
Jill smiled. “Good. Jack has always been good for me. The club takes care of us and we take care of everybody with the club. It’s rare symbiotic relationships work in urban areas, but we are mere creatures trying to survive.”
“They’re lucky to have you. How is it in the ER. You still work there right?”
“Yes still at the hospital,” she groaned. “You know, you’d think admin would have given me shit about the club. All those motherfuckers did was make sure my donor card was signed. But otherwise nothing really new for me though. It’s the same way it’s always been. Fixing up club members as they get broken. They are still running guns and still getting their asses whooped from time to time. Kinda glad Jack is just support and not in the mix. He’s like the ambulance they have at the football games.”
“I would say Montana is the same way. Keeps Red and Doc busy.” Porsche was able to settle in with Jill even as her spine tingled with her want to get to Bugs. “Guess you two still haven’t earned your road names huh?”
“Maybe if Jack leaves me I’ll get one.” She laughed. “Too many people enjoy mocking the two of us. I swear if I’d have known the guy I was taking shots with was named Jack I would have walked away from his sexy ass. Any time someone said his name I thought they were talking about the shot of Jack, not Jack takin’ fucking shots.”
In an industrial part of town they pulled up to a large building. A mix of red brick and metal add ons. “Wait how is this your clubhouse? Y’all are out of LA, I know there is no way you guys come all the way north for parties.”
“No, it’s like a harbor for now, Drac and the others built it. Hotels are expensive and when we did the math, it was cheaper to buy property in Oakland and give our guys a place to crash when they’re on runs. But there is talk of setting up a second Cali charter here. Shit the state is big enough we could have four like they do with the NBA teams and really one in San Diego for the border would be a good look. But I’m pretty sure someone is waiting for you.”
Stepping through the doors Porsche took in the place. The LA Charter was probably the biggest in the Steels, but like Jill said Oakland was a harbor and a dozen or so the club members were scattered around the place. Their women, some claimed, some not were pairing up outside of a few loose ones tending bar, but Mike was nowhere to be seen in the dim light.
A sharp whistle was followed by “Turbo!” and she spun to see Bugs coming from the back.
Her skin scorched with heat.
“Turbo?” Jill questioned. “Here I thought you were being brought out on a conjugal for the inmate. You holding back from me in the truck. Guess you earned your road name, Turbo.”
“No, yes, maybe, look he doesn’t understand the rules really and—”
Before her words could escape she was pulled into a deep kiss as he cradled her neck. The kind that melted the thread holding your clothes together as she instinctively jumped just enough to wrap her legs around his waist. Heated skin turned into sizzling pops as a natural buzz was set off between her thighs. His fingers digging into the globes of her ass as he walked her blindly toward the bar. More than their mouths fused in the moment, he was claiming her fully in front of patched members, but he wasn’t one. Which meant it carried little weight even as it had every ounce of meaning to her.
“Let me guess, Big Bubba and Johnny Knuckles were already loved up with other guys so you got no cuddles in the jailhouse,” she said when he finally broke the embrace. “No one said you had a purdy mouth?”
“They did, but they didn’t have the proper equipment since you know I like a good tease before the tickles.”
“Aw, Bugs, you’re gonna make a girl think you missed her.”
“Oh, I did,” he practically groaned as he shifted his arm, turning it into a bench under her ass and snagged the rolling luggage she’d brought before trying to leave.
“No, Porsche, you can’t just run off with the jailbird,” a familiar, but not recognizable voice hollered. “We all need a little entertainment.”
Bugs stiffened, face reddening as the lust slipped into the anger and she had to put her hands on either side of his face.
“Ignore him,” she said. “He’s probably half in the bag and it ain’t even noon.”
