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“Do you come to parties like this often?” Sophie asks, leaning around me to look at our new friend.
“All the time.” Lana rolls her eyes. “Give me your numbers. I’ll totally invite you to some wild ones.”
Uh, yes please. Sophie and I quickly recite our numbers while Lana punches them into her phone, grinning.
“Let’s get more beer!” she announces, standing and holding her hand to drag us up. Amen, to that, sister.
Chapter 2
MERCH
My phone buzzes while Palmer is draining his coffee. The perky blonde waitress with the big tits bounces over to us. The coffee may be shit in this diner near Palmer’s building, but, from memory, the waitress gives good head.
“Can I get you guys anything else?” she chirps. Palmer shakes his head while I answer my phone.
“Merch, I’m in a bit of a sticky situation.”
Fucking Aaron. He needs to rein it in. “What’s the address?”
He rattles off the name of some seedy bar on the outskirts of Pinedale. Of course the fucker is over there.
“Problems?” Palmer asks, throwing some cash on the table.
“It’s Aaron. There are always fucking problems,” I snarl, shoving out of my booth seat. The perky waitress beats a hasty retreat behind the counter, watching us warily as we stride out of the diner.
“Need some help?” Palmer throws his leg over his rig, frowning across at me. Sighing, I shrug.
“It’s Aaron. It could be nothing, or we could be riding into a shit show.”
“Good point. I’ll tag along, just in case.”
Yeah, that’s probably for the best.
The bar is as seedy as I remember from the last time I had to come out here to help a brother out. The blue brick exterior is covered in graffiti tags, and the sign is missing two letters, with another three blacked out.
“Why does Aaron insist on coming to shit holes like this?” Palmer grumbles, climbing off his ride and glaring at the offending building.
I shrug, pointing at the large, peeling sign proclaiming two-for-one shots.
“That might have something to do with it,” I suggest.
“He drinks for free at the clubhouse.”
“No one will fight him at the clubhouse.”
Palmer makes a face, following me into the dive bar. I have no idea how they managed it, but this place is even more depressing on the inside.
Smoky, dimly lit, with the shade of dark red featured too heavily, and there is framed porn on the walls. So, Aaron’s right at home.
I wasn’t wrong in my assumption that Aaron comes here to fight any cunt who will throw a punch at him. He’s currently in the corner, going toe to toe with a monster of a man. Big, broad, bald, with a beard down his chest. Aaron sure knows how to pick ‘em.
Aaron’s a wiry fucker, like a bulldog when he sinks his teeth into someone, but he’s a little out-matched here. Aaron grunts when his opponent sinks a dinner-plate-sized fist into his stomach, using his cut to hold him in position.
“Wrong fucking move, cunt,” Palmer calls out.
Smirking as he looks over at us, Aaron calls out. “Took you boys long enough.”
His large opponent shoves him away. Aaron stumbles into the pool table, going down hard.
