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“Don’t fucking touch me again or you’ll be eating dirt. Now, empty your pockets.” He demanded.
Damn, I didn’t realize how militant this club truly was, but then again, my father pulled his Navy Seal commando attitude from time to time when I was being a normal defiant teenager.
Back to the dude. He looked a bit like Dallas, but—oh, fuck me. He was the same cocky asshole that came into the hospital room the night Dallas broke his leg. “What are you looking at? Empty your pockets as I told you.”
“Why?”
“Wanna make sure you’re not packing any firearms that you can use on us.” He reached out his hands to pat me down until I pushed him off me.
“Dude. I can empty my pockets without you manhandling me like I'm a common criminal.”
He held his hands up to surrender and watched in scrutiny as I pulled out the set of bike keys, a stick of gum, and Chapstick. “This Alaska air is hell on the lips. I came from Texas where there’s a lot of humidity.”
“I don’t care. Finish emptying your pockets.”
What a dick! I reached around me, tossing my trifold wallet along with my phone on the table. He noticed the screen on the phone. Fuck! I forgot to change it from my selfie. “Who’s the chick? She’s hot!”
I would have taken that as a compliment, but right now, it was going to be trouble. “Oh, yeah, her. Name is Trixie, ex-girlfriend.” I leaned in and whispered, “Gave the best blowjobs, if you know what I’m sayin’.”
This guy seemed unimpressed by that fabrication, but something else on my person got his attention and he looked to the side of me. “Is that a holster?”
“Yea? so? You know Seward has some dangerous elements.” I tried to state my case, but he pulled the gun from the holster.
The guy snarled, “It’s a fucking cap gun.” And tossed it in the trash.
I dug it out and protested, “Hey, one can never be too safe, if you know what I mean. Bad guys in the dark don’t know it’s just a cap gun.”
He removed the cap gun from my hand and the holster from around my waist and tossed them on the table. “What’s the lump in your pocket? Are you carrying a knife?”
I chuckled like I was super cool, but inside I was becoming a nervous wreck. “Yeah! It’s a knife.” I pulled out my trusty Darth Vader Pez dispenser and popped one candy into my mouth. “Sorry, man. I’ve got a sweet tooth.”
“Go sit down. The Vice Prez is about ready to start the meeting. You’re not the first new prospect. You’re just the first one who I think will be a pain in our asses.” The guy walked away.
“What’s your name, Bruh?”
“It’s not bruh.” Uncharacteristically, he held out his hand. “Austin Marquez.” It was surprising, to say the least. Austin wasn’t known for being congenial. I’d even heard my father complain about what an ass he could be.
I smirked and took his hand. “You look like your nicer brother,” I mumbled.
“What did you say, shrimp?” He snapped, squeezing my hand, causing me to wince, but I held off from crying out because that would give me away in a heartbeat.
“It's not shrimp, it’s John.” I stammered, “I’m John,” I danced around until he squeezed my hand tightly. “J-Johnny Wayne. Ow, that hurt you, asshole.”
Austin leaned in so close I could smell what he had for lunch. “Get out of my face, Johnny.”
“Um—with all due respect, Mr. Marquez, you’re the one leaning too close for my comfort.”
He released his grip and walked away from me. I thought. “Man, I hope the rest of the men in here aren’t assholes like that one.”
When I took a seat, I was too busy nursing my hand after Austin nearly shattered every bone and searched the room for Dallas. The moment he turned his head, my heart leaped. Holy crap! He was still as gorgeous as the day I left him at the hospital. But I still wanted to hate him for not protecting my father. “New guy?” A very familiar voice asked, and I slowly turned my head.
I leaned back in the chair, resting my elbows while stretching out my legs. “Ummm, yeah. What’s it to ya, dawg?”
If I made eye contact, Mushu would know it was me and this entire plan would be all for nothing. But Mushu moved his head, forcing me to make eye contact with him. He covered his mouth and started laughing. “Holy crap!” He mouthed my name, and I slipped further down on the hard, metal chair, nearly slipping to the floor.
When Dallas got up to speak, I thought, at first my eyes were glued on him. Yet, I scanned the room, watching how the men sat and their body movements; unaware I was copying one across the room from me until Mushu tapped me on the arm. “What?” I whispered bitterly as he startled me out of my education on male behavior. When I noticed the wadded socks slipped out of place, I adjusted my junk, slapping Mushu’s arm when he laughed.
“Any new prospects?” The object of my newly requited hate and desire spoke.
