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“No. Each.” She smiled harder.
“That’s ridiculous,” a tall, lanky guy snapped.
“I don’t make the rules, but I enforce them.” Mercury kept her eyes on the tall biker with long, sandy-brown hair. She liked slender men. He would be her target today. She pointed to the sign that listed the rules.
The person at the door is always right.
NO COLORS
NO WEAPONS
NO disrespecting the door person.
The door person decides if you get to come in.
NO shoes, NO shirt, NO service.
Muther’s has the right to refuse service to anyone.
If you aren’t sure, refer to rule number one.
Mercury smiled as they started pulling out their wallets. “Please direct your attention to rules number two and three.” She smirked, listening to the grumbling coming from every man.
She watched the entire club walk back to their bikes and remove their cuts. When they came back to the door, she patted down each one, checking for weapons. She heard the comments and ignored them.A little to the left. A little harder would be nice.She rolled her eyes at each of them.
When the lanky biker stepped up, Mercury shook her head when he handed her a credit card. “Cash only.”
“Where does it say that?” Doc snapped at her.
“Rule number one.” Mercury tilted her head down and chuckled.
“Someone give this broad some money,” Doc yelled out at his brothers.
Broad?It was on now. Straightening up, Mercury waited for one of the others to pay the twenty-five dollars before she halted Mr. Lanky from entering. “Rule number two.”
“What?” Doc questioned her.
“Rule number two,” Mercury said, pointing once again to the sign.
“I took my colors off.” She heard the man growl. Too bad he was ill-tempered and couldn’t take a joke. She would’ve loved getting to know him better. Instead, she decided to get more money out of him for the tip jar. It would cost him for calling her a broad.
“Your T-shirt has your club’s patch on the back,” Mercury said flatly.
“Do you sell T-shirts?” he asked.
“Yes, we do.”
“How much?”
“Fifty dollars,” she told him without flinching.
Doc handed the blonde his credit card, and she shook her head. “Cash only,” she said. “Damn it. Gypsy, pay for the T-shirt.”
Mercury held out her hand and accepted the money. “Shirt, please.”
“What?”
Mercury pulled her hot pink tank top over her head, leaving her in a black lace bra, and waited for the guy to give up his shirt. When he snatched hers from her hand, she reached forward and grabbed his. Stepping back where he couldn’t reach her, Mercury turned the T-shirt inside out and slipped it on. “Thanks for the shirt.”
