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I look at the building in front of us and cringe at the thought of going in there; I mean it isn’t exactly welcoming with the skull and crossbones winking menacingly at you. That aside, today should be straight forward, a quick deal; the price is fair and at market value.
There’s nothing but a set of stupid iron doors stopping me from going in there, signing the papers and walking away less a motorcycle club and a spring in my step.
I can do this. I just have to breathe.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Laney says from the car seat next to me, eyeing the clubhouse with a pained look on her face, that is not reassuring. She’s brought along an assistant whose name I’ve already forgotten, but he isn’t any help. In fact, he looks like he couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag.
This isn’t what I need. I need a ball busting lawyer and her fearless assistant ready to take on the world.
The club president is a notoriously hard man, from what I’ve heard, his name is Richie Hutchinson and he’s been at the helm for over twenty-five years.
“It doesn’t really matter if it’s good or bad, it has to be done.” I remind them, unaware until now that I am apparently the voice of reason. Neither of them, however, are making any moves to get out of the car.
It’s going to be fine.I tell myself again.Breathe in, breathe out, now is not the time to panic.
Unfortunately, I can’t meditate my way through this meeting; I have to get out of the car.
I bravely make the first move and step out of Laney’s SUV and straighten the loose bow on my blouse and then I flatten out the front of my pants. I’ve decided to dress as business-like as possible in a sheer grey floaty blouse with a built in camisole, the best black pants I own, and a pair of patent pumps.
I’ve even gone to the lengths of using one of those donut buns, the spongy thing that keeps your hair in place in a tight knot while doing all kinds of crazy things like windsurfing, horse riding and meeting with a biker club in their notorious clubhouse.
Laney follows suit holding her brief case and a large file stuffed under her arm which her assistant quickly takes from her, he then proceeds to drop it awkwardly on the sidewalk while attempting to tuck his shirt in at the same time. I internally face palm myself. I hope to God they don’t have hidden security cameras out front watching our clumsy exchange. They’re probably all laughing at us right at this very moment. Seriously, this is all I need.
I also never knew a set of doors could be so intimidating, but up close the heavy metal seems even more over the top, and it dawns on me for real that we’re not in Kansas anymore.
The same skull and cross bones logo is etched into the framework, and it’s the kind that reminds you that you’re about to potentially step into hell, you know, just in case you forgot where you were.
Above it a plaque reads:
Ride or Die – Bracken Ridge Rebels Motorcycle Club.
I sigh a loud, noisy breath and wonder if it’s too late to go get my brown paper bag from the car for breathing purposes. I refrain and pull the doors open with force. Amazingly, I’m greeted by a large, clean foyer and not what I initially thought; something crossed between a sleazy nightclub and a dungeon.
It’s clean, bright and airy, the floors are polished concrete, good for party clean-up. I can also see now that the tinted windows are two-way, so you can’t see inside from the front, but you can see out.
It’s predominantly black and white but has a huge red backsplash set behind the bar which looks like it holds every hard liquor known to man, along with black leather couches, a huge projector screen, pool tables, a couple of dart boards, the usual things you would expect a biker club to have minus the stripper poles. The only thing missing is a mud wrestling pit and girls in skimpy bikinis. Maybe they only work the night shift since its empty and quiet right now.
Before we go anywhere fast a pretty girl with dark hair appears out of nowhere.
“Hi!” She says brightly coming toward us like she’s been expecting our arrival. “I’m Liliana…. you must be…” she trails off expectantly.
“Sienna,” I reply shaking her outstretched hand, she couldn’t be older than about twenty-one. Realizing I only know one of my companion’s names I smile awkwardly. “And these are my associates.”
I internally slap myself for not paying attention. This is a very bad start.
“Laney.” She also shakes Liliana’s hand.
“Jarrod,” says Jarrod.Phew. Okay.Jarrod. I have to try and remember that but I’m so bad with names and even worse with inconsequential people.
“Well, the guys are all looking forward to meeting you.” She smiles again like this is the best thing since sliced bread.
She ushers us forward.
Guys.Guys?
“Umm, aren’t we just meeting with Mr. Hutchinson?” I at least rememberhisname; I look over my shoulder to Laney in panic.
Liliana’s heels click clack across the shiny floor as we follow behind. She has a short skirt on, a Harley Davidson t shirt knotted at the front and sky-scraper heels. I wonder who she is and what she’s doing here, not that it’s any of my business, but she seems too pretty and sweet to be hanging out here.
