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“Let’s go then.”
Grinning, I follow him out of the room. I want to sit down, take off my shoes, and do vodka shots. If she can’t find me, my mother can’t introduce me to any more mothers of the Wolf Pack.
Chapter 3
MERCH
Palmer has abandoned me, the asshole. We arrived at the clubhouse together, where the party was just getting started, and the prick disappeared down the corridor to the chapel with a smirk. Gone to bury himself balls deep in his old lady.
“Hey, Merch.” Joey rubs her tits against my arm. I bite back a sigh.
Of all the groupies I don’t feel like fucking tonight; I don’t feel like fucking Joey the most. The woman is a ten on the hotness scale and a corresponding off-the-charts hundred on the crazy scale. A couple of nipple piercings and a blow job ability to die for can’t make up for all the other shit that comes with Joey.
Raising my eyebrows at her, I walk away, striding across to a bar table near the jukebox. Jax Hudson, one of the tattoo artists from Hawks Ink, the club-owned tattoo parlor, is there, tapping his wedding ring against his beer glass in time with the song spilling out of the jukebox.
“Your night, huh?”
Jax glances over at my words with a grin. The Hawks Ink boys take it in turn each Friday to front at the clubhouse party. Their new artist, Camila, never bothers coming. Neither does the gay one, Keith. But Cockerel, Jax, and Harvey always front. Cockerel and Jax stay for as short a time as they can get away with before running off home to their stunning wives.
Harvey usually stays a bit later because his own stunning wife always comes with him. She’s the Hawks Ink receptionist and the daughter of Fangs, the club treasurer. Those fuckers at Hawks Ink sure know how to rope gorgeous women. There must be something in the water there.
“Good crowd tonight,” Jax comments. I smirk at him, nodding at his almost empty glass.
“Another beer?”
He glances down, frowning at it, slowly shaking his head.
“Nah. I’ve got to drive home.”
“Your woman got you on a short chain these days?”
Grinning smugly at me, Jax flips me off.
“You fuckers are lucky I even showed. Ever since she got pregnant, she’s even more of a liability than ever.”
“And you let her out of your sight for the night? That’s brave.”
Jax makes a face. “Mikey is six months old. Ari was tucked up in bed asleep before I got here. She’s safe for the night.”
Nance and Shanna appear before I can commiserate with Jax. Having a six-month-old baby at home must suck. No wonder he looks so exhausted.
“Hi, Merch. Hey, Jax.” My name is whispered like a caress. Jax’s is thrown out there carelessly. He doesn’t bother catching his grin when he notices the difference. Jax never touched groupies before he got married, but he doesn't even look at them since getting wrapped around his woman’s finger.
Bored out of my skull, I stare across the room. My eyes lock with Palmer’s, and the bastard flips me off. He’s wearing a satisfied smirk, so he totally fucked his old lady in her office. Palmer’s standing with his arm slung around Lisa’s shoulders.
I’m not the only one who has noticed their appearance.
“That deaf bitch is so fucking annoying,” Nance drawls, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulders.
Jax makes a snickering sound, draining his beer and clapping me on the shoulder.
“I’m off,” he announces cheerily. Asshole. “I’m on early morning diaper duty.”
Ignoring my glare, he throws me a salute, nods to Nance and Shanna, and strides out of the clubhouse. Another prick abandoning me to my groupie-filled fate. I’m surrounded by assholes. Have they never heard of the bro-code?
Shanna and Nance have given up trying to rub themselves all over me. They’re standing on either side of me, shooting death stares across the crowded room at Lisa.
“I have no idea what he sees in her,” Shanna whines. “She’s so… preppy.”
