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His room? I took a slower, more careful look around the room, and realized this must be Charlie’s space. His safe space when he was doing motorcycle club business and didn’t want to be disturbed. There was a photo on the nightstand of Charlie with a man I’d bet was his brother. In another photo, he had his arms around an older woman who wore the proud smile of a mother.
Above the bed another photo showed Charlie with his almost-twin and a man who had to be the father. All three wore Reckless Bastards insignia. It’s a family business.
“You think it’s a woman?” The voices on the other side of the door grew louder, a clear sign they were right outside and wanted me to hear them.
“It better not be,” another woman growled like a feral animal. “We don’t need any more Bitches around here, not with all these guys taking outside bitches as their old ladies.”
“It’s probably some stupid whore and Charlie’s just trying to get info from her. It’s what Cross used to do before he and Moon hooked up.”
I rolled my eyes at the shit-talking going on out there. The women were upset about me being here. Well, that made two of us. I didn’t want to be here anymore than they wanted me here, but the door was locked. And I was stuck.
Or am I?
When we were teenagers, Brendan had taught me a thing or two about picking locks, and this door wasn’t as complicated as the ones on our family estate. This was a simple lever handle. Though I didn’t think to have Tits buy me a lock-pick, she had bought me a switchblade and an off-brand Swiss Army kit.
I kneeled on the hardwood floor to get a good look at the lock, armed with the knife and a hairpin. It wasn’t a secure lock. Then again Charlie probably didn’t need airtight security in his own clubhouse, which made it easy to pick.
As soon as the women’s voices faded, I jiggled the mechanisms until they gave way, and a loud click sounded before the door opened.
“Perfect,” I whispered to myself. I stepped out into a dimly lit hallway. To the right I saw two doors. I checked one and found it was just a toilet with a small sink, and the other door led to the outside patio where Charlie had snuck me inside. To the left, I could hear the women’s voices and the sound of cue balls cracking together across a pool table.
I didn’t back down from a confrontation, ever. And I certainly wouldn’t start now. Besides, they were here and not at the wedding, which meant they weren’t old ladies, family, or official club members. They were something else entirely, and there was a good chance I could score a hit of something, anything, off them.
I walked straight ahead until I found myself in the pool room and stood at the entrance until one of them looked up and I got their attention.
“And who the fuck are you?”
The woman spat the question at me, making a big show of how tough she was, which gave me a chance to size her up. She was older than the others, by at least a decade, either that or hard living had taken its toll. She wore skin-tight jeans and a half-top that showed off an impressively large set of tits, bought by the MC, no doubt.
I stood my ground and said, “The name’s Savvy, who the fuck are you?”
A few of the women chuckled at my response, which only pissed her off more. “I’m Chickie, and I’m in charge of the Reckless Bitches.”
“Good for you. I’m looking to score. Can any of you Bitches help?”
It probably wasn’t smart to taunt them when I was so outnumbered but I couldn’t seem to help myself.
“Are you with Charlie?”
I shrugged. “He brought me here.”
“Why?”
“To keep me safe. That’s what he said, but you know how men are.” I rolled my eyes and took in all six women, dressed to impress even though there wasn’t a man in sight. “So, are any of you holding?”
The older woman got in my face. “Are you fucking Charlie or not?”
“What business is it of yours?”
Charlie was a handsome man, and he seemed nice, at least on the surface, so it wasn’t surprising these women had an eye on becoming his old lady. I wasn’t interested in him, only getting a fix before the sweating and nausea worsened.
“Answer the fucking question, bitch!” Another woman with black hair, pale skin and a lace bustier, shoved me.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” My voice came out on a low growl and all the hairs on my arms stood on edge as my fight-or-flight senses kicked in.
“Or what,” she said, bumping her inflated chest against mine. “What are you gonna do about it, fuckin’ whore?”
